Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Total Confirmed: 1,430,453
Total Deaths: 82,132
Total Recovered: 274,887
They say the weight of a soul is 21 grams.
We’ve lost 3,802.47 Pounds Of Souls.
It kind of feels like there’s nothing to talk about when we talk on the phone. We all know the same things and we all are thinking the same things and it’s good to have discourse. But if we try to talk about our day to day activities, there’s not much. I don’t know how many times we can disclose I-Ordered-Too-Many-Groceries-For-Delivery and I-Finished-My-Coloring-Page.
No one is peeing at the office. That one guy isn’t carrying his magazine down the hallway for a 25 minute break at 10am and everyone knows what he is doing and is super grossed out. Everyone is doing that at home. So toilet paper is getting used a lot more. So there’s still a run on toilet paper. And it all makes sense now.
But shampoo sales have decreased. No one is really taking showers or changing clothes or doing self-care. People say they’re taking soothing baths but I bet they’re just looking at the death toll and Facebook. They talk about meditating and having time to do yoga but it snowed again and archivists who have masks and gear while handling sensitive documents have given all of it to hospitals. And that feels more important than sitting quietly and emptying our minds for a while. It gives us things to talk about.
And So We Fill Ourselves With Fear.
We rode our bikes around for 12 miles after work. Right at 5:00. And I’m grateful he works from home and we can shake off the day right away. And I’m grateful for where we live. And I’m grateful for bicycles.
But in the hours that are the later afternoon ones, I tend to get A Case of the Fuck-its. And I wish it was tomorrow.
Not that anything is happening tomorrow. Just to start over.
“Thanks For Playing,” life says out loud, “Try Again.”