My father texted me yesterday, and I need you to understand that my father only types on a regular keyboard with two fingers, so texting---even worse---is for him a laborious and unfathomably slow process. I knew it must be something very urgent. He texted to say I need to blog to "protect his sanity." I was tempted to let him know I'll miss him if I'm all that's standing between him and the brink, but instead I told him I'd try as soon as I had some time. Because, you know, time is weird right now. Also I was on a Zoom meeting when he texted, so technically I did NOT have the time right...
Time has ceased to have meaning, right? It's not just me? When I sell things on Poshmark (woefully infrequently, these days, because who needs clothes when we're all hanging out at home in our sweats?) and get them packaged up, I always include a thank-you note. Because I store my Posh stuff in the room where Monkey hangs out and plays video games, it's typical for me to ask him to tell me the date, as he is surrounded by devices and can usually find it faster than I can. This morning I was packing something up and asked him to tell me the date while I was writing out my little thank-you...
So much has happened since I was last here! Hahahahaaaaaaaa. Just a little bit of shelter-in-place humor for you. I'M HILARIOUS. Actually, a few things have happened. First of all, our moron governor decided that certain businesses could open back up again. This is measured and sensible, yes? Of course! But then you find out that these essential businesses of which he speaks are... salons, nail places, and bowling alleys. And even if you don't live in Georgia, you've heard about this, because we're now The State That Spawned a Hundred Memes, starting with a few dozen riffs on how it's time...
Am I still sewing? I'm still sewing. I've lost exact count, but I'm right around 300 masks or so at the moment. We've done five bulk donations and I've sent masks all over the country to friends and family and pretty soon I'm going to learn how to make masks for the dogs. (That's not true. They've barely survived the indignity of winter sweaters; I wouldn't subject them to masks.) I have twice now been offered money for 100 masks and 1) I am still sort of terrible at this, my sewing is a little, uh, free-form, plus 2) the whole idea was to donate, so the first time I turned it down flat and...
... through the quarantine. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life has lost all mean(ing). Oh, hello! I was just slowly going insane on account of I've been home for approximately seven years and also in the... less than a month... since I last wrote, I've sewn somewhere in the neighborhood of 250 face masks. I would love to tell you I'm getting better at it, but instead I will tell you the truth, which is that I am getting better at swearing a little less each time the machine jams or I otherwise manage to screw up somehow, and most of the masks I make actually look like masks. So I guess...
Haha, remember how a couple of weeks ago I was all WOOOO CORONAVIRUS I'M DISTRACTING MYSELF? Welp. I've now been "socially distant" for eight days (not that I'm counting...) and as of yesterday we've gone from "social distancing" to "mandatory shelter-in-place" so hooboy, I do like hanging at home, but I don't so much like the whole feeling-like-if-I-don't-we-all-die version of it. We now have local friends who are sick and waiting on the results of their COVID-19 tests. Shit, as they say, is getting real. 0/10, would not recommend. In the meantime, two out of four members of Casa Mir are...
Apparently we're all supposed to be panicking about coronavirus and stockpiling supplies for the inevitable quarantine we'll all be under in very short order. As I already buy toilet paper by the case because I'm cheap, and because I'm asthmatic but also sort of a hermit, I find that freaking out about our eventual mass demise isn't occupying nearly enough of my time. Instead I am forced to burn daylight in other ways, which is fine because I like to consider myself a multitasker. These diversions may not work for you, but I share because I care. Use or don't. All I can tell you is that it's...
I think I mentioned that Chickadee moved back home with allllll her stuff, and the idea is that she's taking this semester she should've still been in school to kind of decompress and tend to her health (HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA because 20-somethings are notorious for taking good care of themselves, amirite?) and figure out what's next, and then around May or maybe before (she said, trying not to sound too eager), she'll move back out to another apartment, taking all of this stuff with her. We'd cleaned out the attic, some, but let's just say that organization is not my darling daughter's strong...
I just went back in my archives to see if I ever wrote about getting a new car a few years back, and apparently I did not. It was Chickadee's senior year of high school, and there was a lot of other stuff going on, and also I vaguely remember my ex making a snarky comment about it to me (which immediately sent me into a reflexive shame spiral of "I don't deserve nice things" because a traumatized brain is a complex and stupid thing), and so somehow, I never talked about it, I think. But: just before Christmas of 2015, Trixie, my trusty old Corolla, became Chickadee's very own car, while I...
