The COVID Diaries: A Light Grey Blizzard

Hello Darling Ones,

Last night, kind of spur of the moment, the Black Sheep (my writing group) had a little zoom call to catch up on what’s-a-goin’-on in these unprecedented times. It’s been months since we last caught up with each other. I’m not kidding you when I say seeing all their faces made me want to cry with happiness. Aside from BFK, who after 20+ years and who talks to my mom more than I do, is like family, I have no seen a non-family person since I don’t know, maybe April? May? Does time mean anything anymore?

If you don’t follow me on Twitter (why don’t you follow me on twitter? I’m a goddamn delight!) Here’s the notes from the meeting.

They are amazing, creative, kind, supportive, encouraging people, and I’m the trash goblin they occasionally let hang out with them.

Darling Ones, today I did not stare at that dirty ceiling fan for hours. I DID NOT!

I only stared at it for about 45 minutes, because I did not manage to make it out of bed and downstairs until nearly 10 a.m. (for the first time in ages I fell asleep after the 4:45 a.m. bathroom break and the 7:45-8:15 lawn mowing where I wish murder upon the people mowing and blowing and doing stuff that is way too loud for that time in the morning).

Anyway, the sight of the dirty, dripping with dust caterpillars ceiling fan was driving me bananas. So many bananas that I put down the TikTok (I’ve fallen into tattooed, bearded, dad-bods who love fatties thirst trap TikTok, so you know this wasn’t easy), went into the garage, hauled the super crusty and annoying apparatus I need to clean the 20-foot high ceiling fan, and I cleaned it.

It sucked. A bunch. Because of gravity those stupid dust caterpillars have nowhere to go but down and so by the time I have dusted the ceiling fan it looks like a light grey blizzard has hit my living room. So then you have to vacuum and dust and do all that other kind of housekeeping bullshit I really hate doing.

But I did it. And now when I tell people that I lay on the couch watching the ceiling fan it feels 38% less depressing. Right?

I knew you’d agree with me.

Jodi

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