Routine

DAY 34 (I began sheltering in place on Friday the 13th, a few days before most folks began to hunker down). After a month of sheltering in place, with a few excursions to go to work (I’m a care provider), shop, and to run errands, I begin my mornings early by making a large flask of tea, and I start the porridge in my crockpot—it takes a while to cook but no stirring, or burned pots are involved. Besides, I have all the time in the world. I’m rationing my mush, as Bob’s Red Mill can’t replenish stocks until June. TG I got all that Costco TP before all this madness began. After a lengthy tea party with myself, followed by a deep Facebook debriefing, I eat breakfast and clean up. I migrate downstairs around noonish or maybe 1 pm, for coffee and a tiffin, or a light lunch. Then I head outside to my car which doubles as an office. I try to mix it up a bit so casual dress may include a nightie, sweats, or a combo of both if I’m feeling daring. I use the upright passenger seat, with its excellent window lighting, for my main Messenger/FB interactions—see who’s alive or missing, or dead. Facebook has become the new obituary column. I catch up on my email, and petition signing events. Sometimes Chad Sweeney posts haiku prompts, so the mind is always counting syllables, if not the days and weeks during this quarantine of suspended time. Sometimes I even make some art, but lately that has fallen by the wayside. And later, I might migrate to the backseat for an afternoon lounge with my iPad, for some light reading, writing—often gleaning my comments from Facebook memories to turn them into something. After all, it is poetry month, and I’m generally desperate to flesh out my blog, and meet my imaginary quotas. Or if that fails, maybe I’ll watch some Netflix if I’m especially groggy, or if my eyes have completely gone on strike. There is considerable danger that my lunch event horizon becomes an afternoon snacking affair that merges into the formal dinner hour. Sometimes I stay out late in my car, and join the other howlers in the neighborhood. There is blessed unity in that moment. Then it’s back upstairs to the bedroom atilier with dinner in hand, if I haven’t eaten the entire afternoon, that is. I try to keep my distance from the other folks in the house as I don’t want to share any virus with them as their immune systems are more delicate than mine. There’s that potential that every time I go out into the world that I’ve been exposed to the virus, then the doomsday clock is reset, and I have to wait another five days to see if any symptoms develop. See, lately my throat always hurts. At first, I thought for sure it was the dread virus, but it’s not. That abiding lump in my throat is raw, untamed grief with nowhere to go. I like being upstairs, above the trees, where it’s always wine o clock, I can see a few stars to the east, but there’s no clear shot of the night sky. I miss not seeing the fading light on the western horizon. Only the darkness of redwoods to haunt me. I follow that dinner hour with a cookie, or three, and another chaser of Netflix until I doze off with Gibbs and Abbs. I will probably go through withdrawal when I watch the last episode of NCIS. Since we have all this free time, I began at the beginning. I’m up to Season 13. Soon it will all be over, one way or another. Lately I’ve been so tired, I fall asleep at 9 o clock, which is unusual, but invariably that means I wake up around midnight or 1 am, all owlish, which gets complicated if I have to get up early the next morning to work. Oddly the rooster seems to know when someone’s awake in the house because he redoubles his efforts and sings nonstop until the dawn comes.

This piece began as a short Facebook comment.
I begin my morning with a lengthy tea party with myself, and a deep FB reading session. I migrate downstairs around noonish for coffee and a snack. Then I head outside to my car as office. I use the upright passenger seat, with its excellent lighting, for my main Messenger/FB read, email, and petition signing events, sometimes I even make some art, and later, I migrate to the backseat for an afternoon lounge with my iPad. Then it’s back to the bedroom atilier with dinner in hand. Wine o clock and Netflix.