Day 124, self quarantine:
Thursday, July 16, 2020
Good morning! I’m obviously happy today, having tomorrow off and everything.
As you PA folks have probably heard, our extremely competent and cautious governor is holding back on reopening our state, and issued new guidelines yesterday.
The governor specifically addressed office workers:
“All businesses must have employees working remotely where the work doesn’t need to be done in an office,” Governor Wolf said. “We’re at a tipping point and we need to act.”
That’s me! That’s me!
Actually, people grumbled about our governor and his initial restrictions but we’re one of the few states who were on track to conquer the virus.
If everyone had done what our governor did, we’d be going to concerts and ballgames this summer.
President Clownstick Von Fuckface has one final chance to save his re-election bid and us if he’d shut the whole damn country today through Labor Day and issue a federal mask mandate.
Instead, yesterday his idiot cult member governor in Georgia... the criminal who stole the election...overrode all local mask laws in his state, where, by the way, the virus is raging.
I will say it again. They want us too sick to protest or vote.
My son, who knew at age four when he sat behind his first drum kit what he wanted to be when he grew up, told me he has a Plan B in case live music doesn’t come back because he obviously wants to start a family. Oh, and eat.
At first when he told me, my heart broke in a million pieces. He’s been living the dream since 2005, when he was 18 years old and a freshman at University of Arts and Andre invited him to join Project Object.
Anyway, after the initial shock that Eric would be anything other than a touring musician, Gary and I are all in on his Plan B because he can still do the music thing if and when live music comes back, and more importantly, he can earn a living anywhere in the world.
Because we don’t think America is going to make it.
We hope we’re wrong but...
So that’s where we’re at in this family.
Julie is formulating a Plan B as well. Please join me in urging her to do a vegetarian cooking show incorporating her music on YouTube! Tell me that wouldn’t be amazing - Julie instructionally cooking dishes she’s had all over the world and talking about the experience both musically and culturally.
Haha, I don’t know if it would be financially lucrative but as her mom, I’d sure like to see that regardless.
Oy, I still can’t believe any of this is happening.
Most of the time, the days all roll into one and I feel like I am floating through this pandemic wrapped in gauze.
And other times when I think about the reality of the aftermath, it brings me to my knees.
Speaking of being brought to my knees, I am sitting here reeling in shock right now.
A couple of days ago, and I have no idea why, I thought about the doctor who delivered Julie and Eric.
I couldn’t remember his name.
It drove me crazy. I wish I knew how to show you my Google history for Monday. I tried different variations of what I thought was his name and then I even tried googling his former office address, which I did remember.
So I thought, wow, the kids were born in the eighties before everyone had the internet and my doctor was probably in his late fifties or early sixties, he’s probably long retired and that’s that.
You know what old people do every morning? We read the obituaries.
I just read today’s death notices in Philadelphia.
Oh my fucking god.
That’s the doctor who delivered my kids. I just read his obituary.
I started searching for him simultaneously.
So what, now I predict death?
This isn’t the first time this has happened. Or the second. Or even the third. Ask Gary.
I actually asked Gary on Monday if he remembered the doctor’s name. Wait’ll I show him this.
Anyway, now that I am completely freaked out, I am going to have another cup of coffee.
Probably not the smartest move.
Peace out, everyone.
And I guess pray I never randomly think of your name and google you.
