Day 169, self quarantine:
Sunday, August 30, 2020
Morning! I slept in today!
Since that never happens, can someone confirm I’m still alive?
Oh, I’m kidding.
So yeah, we overslept, and we had to hightail it out of here for senior shopping hour.
That feeling when you live with someone for over forty years and you realize you got dressed to go out shopping wearing the exact same outfit.
We both broke out hysterically laughing when we saw each other this morning.
I mean, I had to take a selfie or it didn’t happen, right?
Granted, I bagged up 90% of my clothes for donation yesterday, but I left myself about 25 different black t-shirts.
Gary, on the other hand, has so many t- shirts he has two six drawer dressers full.
So that’s pretty crazy.
And if that wasn’t weird enough, I woke up this morning singing Natalie’s song, “Lost.”
Gary heard me.
Julian Booker just played it on WXPN and Gary looked at me, stunned.
“Did you request that?”
I returned his shocked expression.
Nope. They don’t take requests on Sleepy Hollow.
Soooo, same shirts and some music synchronicity. I should buy a lottery ticket, huh.
I told you I’m witchy like that.
I still believe Donald isn’t going to be the candidate November 3.
I was all kinds of depressed and scared last week and thought we’re stuck with him forever but in the light of day, relaxed on vacation, I realize Donald is in big trouble.
He’s not well physically.
See pics underneath, which are from the last few days.
Keep your eye on Portland and Kenosha. This is going to backfire on him bigly.
Especially Portland. This story is still developing, but PotusVirus may be an accomplice to murder again.
The destruction of the United States Post Office isn’t helping him, either.
Michael Cohen’s book is out September 8.
So is the book from Melania’s former assistant.
She said Melania refused to use her bathroom in the White House until it was completely remodeled because Michelle Obama used it.
Racist much, Melanoma?
Omg these people are inconceivable human garbage.
But let’s recap.
Donald almost fell down the steps the other night, is slurring, and is making zero sense when he speaks.
From his speech Friday:
“Protests my ass. I don’t talk about my ass.”
Protests sounded more like “protestchs.”
I’m not a doctor, but doctors on Twitter are screaming he has frontotemporal dementia and needs a neurological workup immediately.
I just think he’s a severely mentally ill imbecile and has the health one would expect of a morbidly obese old man with an unhealthy diet and anger management issues.
I repeat: He won’t be on the ballot November 3.
Everyone feel better?
I know I do!
So Gary and I have no plans for today other than watching the birds and eating tomato sandwiches and french fries but it’s so unbelievably gorgeous out today I intend to plant myself in a chair out back for a couple hours and soak up some sun.
We planned on going to Dog Beach tomorrow but I’m reading conflicting weather reports so we’ll see.
We’ll get there at some point this week.
In the meantime, we intend to enjoy today.
In the words of the late Bill Withers, “And I know it’s gonna be a lovely day.”
Have fun.
