Day 222

Day 222, self quarantine:

Thursday, October 22, 2022

Whoa, that’s a lot of 2s.

Lottery ticket, anyone?

Sigh...that just reminded me of something.

Back before the apocalypse, back when our office staff was 30 as opposed to 15, we had a woman who walked around on Fridays and collected $2.00 from everyone for weekly powerball tickets. Of course I never really believed we would win, but every week it allowed me the fantasy of a victory, especially the weeks the pot was hundreds of millions.

Needless to say, I haven’t bought a lottery ticket since March.  

So now I can’t fantasize about buying three adjoining houses on the beach in another country for Eric, Natalie, Julie, Katie, Gary and me.

At least not via the lottery.  I’ll have to think of another way.

So I am officially an old lady.  Gary had to buy me a pill dispenser with the days of the week on them because I can never remember if I took my blood pressure and cholesterol medication which I kinda need to live and I got sick of having to dump out the bottles and count pills every day.

Haha, too funny, when I used to take Valium I never forgot to take my medicine though admittedly I took more than my daily dosage on purpose.

Bad Robin.

Anyway, I make the point about my old lady pill dispenser because I load it up with two weeks worth of pills at a time and it feels like I’m always filling it up.

It’s always every two weeks.  The days all run together and time has no real meaning in quarantine land.

I still can’t believe my first journal entry, worrying about being stuck with Gary at home for two weeks.

I wish.

Gary got all cranky with me about my phone again yesterday and he made me cry.

“I’m stuck in the house eight months cut off from the world, I haven’t seen Julie in almost a year, I’ve seen Eric once, but at least we can text each other, I go upstairs and work ten hours a day and stay in touch with my boss and coworkers by phone and text, and in two weeks it’s the most important election of my lifetime but sure, I’ll put down my phone so I can be your handmaid in my remaining waking hours.”

He stared at me, mouth open.  I’m not usually argumentative, I go out of my way to avoid confrontation even though my brain may be muttering “you fucking jerkoff” but right now, eight months into quarantine and four years into Donald, I’m exhausted, scared and depressed.

I’m completely frazzled.

And yet...

And yet Gary’s right.

I am obsessed, I tried to avoid the news but I can’t.  I am on Twitter all night and I am incapable of listening or having a conversation with anyone right now.

I can’t put my phone down.  Not until after the election.

It’s that important.

Everything depends on it.

After I finished crying and reminding him he’s still a human smokestack, we talked it out and we will both twelve step ourselves after the election.

No worries, we’re pros at that.

And if Donald wins, I’m deleting my social media, anyway, so I won’t care if I ever go online.

I just want this to be over.  I’ve had enough.

And today the handmaid gets confirmed, even though there’s no stimulus package and we have an election in 12 days with a mentally ill president who was impeached and in my mind has a hand in the deaths of 220,000 Americans.

I hear the Democrats are going to boycott but it will only be a gesture, the Repugnants have the votes.

I have zero desire to watch the debate. The Eagles have a game tonight and even though they suck beyond belief, that’s what will be on our television.

Though cool story, Kristen Welker is the moderator.  We bought our house from Kristen’s mother, Julie, and we remember when she was born. We watched her grow up, they lived in our hood and I think they still do.

I still can’t watch.

I am going to have to be strong.  There’s going to be a lot making me nuts in the next 12 days, that’s a given.

And on that note, I’m going upstairs and start my work day even though the sun hasn’t risen yet and it’s pitch dark in here.

I’m escaping any way I can.

Happy Thursday.