Getting to the Next Day

The trick to having a blog in the middle of a pandemic in a run-up to an election that will determine the future of democracy in America is to get stuff written before the rum kicks in.

I would be lying if I said I’ve found the zen in pandemic life. I have figured out how to not be sobbing constantly. I also quit taking my temperature which I did compulsively for the first month or so, one day screeching down the stairs that my temperature was 98 degrees! before I realized that is what most people’s temperature is. Not mine, really. I am an extremely cool customer. But still. I panicked over 98 degrees.

So, now I just feel my forehead, like I did when my kids were little since I never knew where the thermometer was. I put my cheek against their foreheads and that was how I knew. I feel my forehead in the morning when I wake up and when I am sitting on the couch eating Dots with a glass of rum and Coke on the coffee table beside me. Am I hot? I am not hot.

Maybe I should be worried about my drinking. I’m not. It’s one of a small number of things that have saved me: a long walk in the morning with our dogs, work in the afternoon, and, at five o’clock, two, maybe three, fingers of rum in a glass with a squeezed lime wedge and Diet Coke to top off the glass. I use a short glass.

So I either write early in the day or I write in the bag because I depend on that five o’clock bell to give me the signal. You made it through today. Time to relax.

Time to celebrate.