This monochromatic sameness of days. Life feels colorless. Dull.
**
I hate this edgy restlessness. The dogs constantly scratching at the door.
**
Lack of focus. I’ll be making scrambled eggs, then zone off, thinking about the island, thinking about where I bought my spatula, wondering if Cindy’s okay. Then return to the eggs like, what the fuck am I doing right now? What was I just thinking about again?
**
My world is unbalanced, teetering on a one-legged yoga pose.
**
The tentative “you okay?” texts to friends I haven’t connected with in months. The random memories that pop into my mind.
“Remember that time we were so hungover I puked in the ficas tree at Denny’s?” I text Cindy.
“Nope,” she responds.
**
Run the dogs. Walk the dogs. Walk the neighborhood under the stars. A neighbor smoking a cigar, smoke curling in the moonlight. Someone doing laundry.
**
On the kitchen counter, two recipes: Rice Krispy treats and my cousin’s Cape Cod chicken. Comfort food I’ll never make.
Note: I made both.
**
I can’t explain why I find Wednesday morning trash pick-up soothing. Because it’s a routine carried over from The Before? Or the marking of midweek gives us a forward push as we move closer to The After? Does it matter?
**
Dreamy sunshine. The thoughtless tease of an endless summer.
**
At what exact moment did showering become a major life event?
**
The pandemic: An entire season of snowdays. With power.
**
None of this makes sense. “They opened the beach at Coronado yesterday, but no boating allowed,” my husband reports. “I don’t get it.
Bartlett Lake allowing boats, but no swimming.
**
Nothing makes sense and nothing makes sense.