Day 112, self quarantine:
Happy Independence Day.
Oh that it really were.
But do keep up those sweaty, slurred Nazi speeches while wearing bright orange clown makeup, Donald. I’m positive that’s your path to reelection 😂😂😂.
So I’ve been up since 3:00 a.m. and wrote an entirely different post, which in the light of day, I’ve decided not to share.
But since this is a quarantine journal, I want to document that it was all about fear.
I don’t know what the hell happened, what started out as a mild pity party for Gary and me because I got triggered by years of July 4 Facebook memories of our kids at the beach, turned into a full fledged panic attack for everyone I love when I went downstairs.
Every time I think about the ramifications of this virus, it brings me to my knees.
I wish I had the money to fund every artist out of work. My heart is broken in a million pieces. I need to do more to help.
I will.
The important thing is, I turned my dark mood around by recognizing how self destructive self pity is and the way out of that funk is by focusing on the positives.
I have so many amazing memories of my family at the beach.
I have so many amazing memories, period. It’s been a pretty remarkable life.
But why is everything always so much scarier in the middle of the night?
I’m honestly fine this morning, looking forward to a low key day of hanging with Gary, paining rocks, listening to music and eating hand cut french fries.
It’s not a bad deal at all.
Happy Independence Day.
Oh that it really were.
But do keep up those sweaty, slurred Nazi speeches while wearing bright orange clown makeup, Donald. I’m positive that’s your path to reelection 😂😂😂.
So I’ve been up since 3:00 a.m. and wrote an entirely different post, which in the light of day, I’ve decided not to share.
But since this is a quarantine journal, I want to document that it was all about fear.
I don’t know what the hell happened, what started out as a mild pity party for Gary and me because I got triggered by years of July 4 Facebook memories of our kids at the beach, turned into a full fledged panic attack for everyone I love when I went downstairs.
Every time I think about the ramifications of this virus, it brings me to my knees.
I wish I had the money to fund every artist out of work. My heart is broken in a million pieces. I need to do more to help.
I will.
The important thing is, I turned my dark mood around by recognizing how self destructive self pity is and the way out of that funk is by focusing on the positives.
I have so many amazing memories of my family at the beach.
I have so many amazing memories, period. It’s been a pretty remarkable life.
But why is everything always so much scarier in the middle of the night?
I’m honestly fine this morning, looking forward to a low key day of hanging with Gary, paining rocks, listening to music and eating hand cut french fries.
It’s not a bad deal at all.
And how crazy is this. I went searching through my stuff to find a pic of the kids at the beach and found a novel I started writing in 2012 and abandoned called Suicide Blonde.
I just read it. I honestly don’t remember writing it. In fact, I was in such a bad place when I wrote it I am positive my finding it now was more than a spooky coincidence.
Our dog had just died, Julie was moving to Los Angeles, Eric wasn’t in a good relationship, and I had one of the worst jobs of my life working for a screaming cokehead lunatic.
Anyway, fuck me, I think I can salvage that novel and make it funny.
It’s so poor, poor me I sound like a cross between Woody Allen and Donald Trump.
How did my family stand me? Yikes.
But the good stuff in there I can work with.
Did you know that I lived at the beach for two summers when I was 15-16 as a mother’s helper for three boys age 3,5 and 6?
It’s when I decided I was NEVER having kids 😂😂😂
There’s a couple of chapters about that.
I was paid $15 a week, cooked three meals a day, and even ironed sheets. I thought I was the luckiest person in the world.
I had the weekends off and had a secret life.
I basically ate my way through Atlantic City all by myself.
And this is back before foodies and when 15 year olds were basically just a few years graduated from playing with Barbies.
I started with candy stores and I am proud to say I discovered a real chocolatier on my own before anyone knew what that was but by the end of summer I was dining on lobster at Captain Starn’s Seafood.
I just had to google my old haunts.
Oh my fucking god, the candy store I rode my bike to almost every day when I was 15 is still there.
HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS?
It’s literally twenty minutes away from Ocean City, where we’ve spent every summer since 1989.
Well, this changes everything.
We are so going there.
I’m waking Gary.
He’s going to be thrilled.
Not, but I know how to make him happy.
Omg, my other haunt at age 15. I can’t even believe it. It’s like time has stood still.
I’ll have the cheesesteak submarine, please.
Without the steak.
Hey, a gooey cheese and tomato sauce sandwich on a crusty Italian roll is amazing.
To each their own.
Okay, I am going upstairs with a cup of coffee for my better half.
He’s never going to agree to this but I am still smiling at the possibility and now I’m thinking I will take a day off next week and go when it’s less crowded and risky.
Wow. For a brief moment, I got so caught up in my 15 year old Robin memories and chocolate...especially chocolate... I totally forgot about the virus.
Okay. Deep breaths. I’m still smiling and that’s all that matters.
And Gary is making hand cut french fries tonight.
Oh, and Donald Trump, Jr.’s girlfriend tested positive for the virus.
Hey, thanks, God! Maybe you’re there after all!
Now please smite Trump and every single one of his supporters.
Whatever.
Enjoy the day, fellow apocalypse dudes.
