Day 181

Day 181, self quarantine:

Friday, September 11, 2020

September 11.  I can’t type that date without dread.

Who will ever forget.

I’ve written about September 11 before, even in the early days of this apocalypse journal, so I won’t rehash my experience.

But I will never forget the relief of seeing my kids unharmed after racing to their school when the plane went down in Pennsylvania, just 200 miles away.

As a child who was terrorized daily during the Cold War and was forced to do duck and cover drills under her elementary school desk, I was pretty sure it was World War III.

I thought I rescued Julie and Eric so we could all perish together hours later at Casa Slick.

Weirdly, it’s also the official six month anniversary of quarantine for a lot of us.

It feels like more, maybe because we had the longest January ever and now it’s September and the stores are decorated for Halloween.

Except Halloween is canceled this year.

(Though it is well documented that every day is Halloween at Casa Slick where I am never, ever without chocolate)

I just wish it were November 4 and Biden won in a landslide and I could relax.

My anxiety is building. 

Vacation is over and it’s 53 days until the election.  

Oy, I can’t even.

I’m pretty grateful Gary forces me to live in the present.  Woo, I’ve been struggling with the past and the future lately.

Quarantine has me alone with my thoughts too much.

I know I’m not supposed to live in the past, but what about beautiful memories?

Though my problem lately is, I’ll think of something the kids did when they were little and what starts out as a beautiful memory suddenly morphs into this incredible sadness and longing for something I don’t have anymore.

Or maybe I just miss my kids.

I do.  It sucks.

Most of all, I miss our meals together.  The great food, fascinating conversation, and laughter.

There were years when friends of the kids showed up every single evening for dinner.

I would just set the table for 5-6 every night.

Sigh.

This is the first time I really do feel old.  I’m not sure if it’s fallout from being quarantined all these months, or, actually finally being old as in official retirement age.

I never paid attention to numbers before and never acted my age but this feels different, like something is ending.

Oh well.  Maybe that means something new is beginning.

As long as it’s not a Trump family dictatorship.

Omg, can you imagine?

Ew!  I’m gonna be sick.

Haha.  Sounds like six months in confinement has me more than a little nuts, huh.

A short weekend road trip is in order.

And french fries.  Definitely french fries.

And some new art and some new music.

Also, Julie is on the inside cover, full page, of Bass Player Magazine this month so I’m sending Gary out in his mask to try and snag a copy or seven today.

I can’t believe that during the first week of quarantine I worried he’d never wear one.

Ever since he got stung by a bee while trying to avoid an unmasked neighbor while watering his plants unmasked, Gary won’t even take the trash out without one.

Oh and woe the person on the street without a mask who encounters my husband now.

Masks.  I’ll never get used to wearing one.

Though I guess if I went out more than once every two weeks I would, huh.

Okay, clearly I am all gloomy and need to shake this off.

It’s Friday!

We’re having pancakes for dinner!

We’re going on a road trip!

I really want to pick up that new Kingfish Ingram record, too.  “Rock and Roll” is everything.

If you haven’t heard it...

https://youtu.be/L6aJUAfwQc4

Kingfish wrote it about his late mother, who died last year.  She was a single mom who sacrificed everything so he could play music.

The video is made up of lyrics and photographs of the two of them.

I dare you to watch/listen without crying.

And oh man can he play guitar.

Let me know what you think.

Okay, let’s wrap up month six.

Everybody chill.

Happy Friday!