Plague Diary IV

Day 79 6/1/2020

How do you write about the un-writeable? How do you speak about the unspeakable? How do we open our mouth if all that comes out is a shriek of lament? I believe, no I BELIEVE that what we are seeing is the filth of our underlying racism, no, RACE HATRED, coming out through the pores of our nation, oozing onto the screen, showing us WHO WE ARE and dear God, WHO WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN. A nation built on genocide, apartheid, lynching and institutionalized, systematic, unconscionable acts of sin perpetrated by the persons in power who look like me. I am sick and hurt and guilty and privileged. Millions of people, black and white, demonstrate in the streets of our cities, walking in shorts and tee shirts, cuz it’s summer. Out of those millions, a few throw stuff, break into a store, spray paint a building. Now those millions are “domestic terrorists” and the picture shifts. Footage of looters and arsonists and headlines about unleashed crime. And the self-proclaimed “Law and Order President” sics three sets of cops into a peaceable crowd, teargassing them, riding horses against them, driving cars into crowds, throwing fire bombs, tear gas, shooting rubber bullets to clear the way for His Fuckness to walk in a stately manner surrounded by a hundred guards to a church across the street to hold a Bible upside down in rubber-gloved hands and vow that he will bring the US military to bear against its own people. Hear Jeremiah witness the agony of God (Jer 4: 18-22) and weep.

Your ways and your doings

have brought this upon you.

This is your doom; how bitter it is!

It had reached your very heart.

My anguish, my anguish! I write in pain!

Oh the walls of my heart!

My heart is beating wildly;

I cannot keep silent;

for I hear the sound of the trumpet,

the alarm of war.

Disaster overtakes disaster,

the whole land is laid waste.

Suddenly my tents are destroyed,

my curtains in a moment.

How long must I see the standard,

and hear the sound of the trumpet?

For my people are foolish,

they do not know me;

they are stupid children,

they have no understanding.

They are skilled in doing evil,

but do not know how to do good.



Day 80 6/2/2020

I take a “house” day. Pay bills, dust, take my lease and the rent check down to my landord, pick up a coffee at Small World, work a puzzle, drive to Whole Foods for groceries. My concentration is shot. The tiny little man hides in his bunker and tells the Governors to DOMINATE the protesters and if they won’t DOMINATE, he will. Get out the studded whips, girls, we’re gonna party tonight, come here you bad little boy. What self-respecting leather queen can hold her head up tonight?

Abba Antony said:

The time will come when people will be insane, and when they see someone who is not insane they will attack that person, saying: ‘You are insane, because you are not like us.” CDP I, 418

2000 years later, and the time has come.

Sick, sick, sickedy sick sick.



Day 81 6/3/2020

I walk up to Nassau & Witherspoon at 5 pm for a rally for George Floyd. We are going to kneel, so I’ve brought a small mat from the house. There are hundreds of us there. Mostly young, all colors. When it comes time we all kneel on the street for 8 min and 40 seconds, the time the Black man took to die with the cop’s knee on his neck while other cops watched. I’m on my little mat—I move to the side of it and offer the other half to the man next to me, who declines, as does his woman partner. I’m telling you that 8 min and 40 seconds is a very long time. A very sad long time, and all the Black people I have ever loved looked on, most of them from Heaven, since that’s their ‘hood now. At the end as I struggle to get up, the man next to me reaches down and takes my hand and pulls me up. His bare hand to my bare hand. So there it is. The first human touch in over 10 weeks and it’s a Black man in the middle of a vigil.

And there you have it.



DAY 82 6/4/2020

I spent the day editing and correcting and re-writing. Sent it off to Emma  for formatting at 5. Philip called, said he was eager to see it. Me too.

I leave the radio off all day now, and only watch a bit of news after 9 pm. I am deeply moved, more than words can express, when I see the sea of marchers in 450 cities around the globe, the moving flow of millions of people walking walking walking day and night, day after day, night after night. It is magnificent to watch and as painful as a knife in the heart. We come to this.

Look, for the last 5 months we have seen pictures of covid patients struggling to breathe, plugged into ventilators, standing in line to get into the hospital: I can’t breathe. Now we have millions of people marching in the name of George Floyd, a man of color who died under the knee of a Fuck “under colors.” What does he say? What do the people marching chant day after day after day? I can’t breathe. This goes beyond irony.

My brother weeps as we talk late into the night. I watch as he receives a call—to go into the prisons and spread love. He talks of Ramakrishna. I think of Jesus.

Where am I going with all this? Hell, I wish I knew. I have poured my mind and heart into a paper that I call Confluence. I send it out as my manifesto, I suppose. My “papers” as well as my paper. This is me. This is what I think. I struggle to quell the voice that asks, Is it good enough? And God answers, Am I Not Enough?

Note to self: You cannot outwit God. Shut the fuck up.



Day 83 6/5/2020

My friend the astrologer texts me: Be very careful today. Full moon 3:44 pm eclipse Venus retrograde and other planets are unsteady. Even wild animals have no control. Be very careful. May run through all weekend…no safe place 15 degree Sagittarius and Gemini.

So I go blithely about on my day while cops beat up, shoot, and gas demonstrators for the 11thstraight day and night and the You-know-what of the Greatest Fuckup on Earth says the murdered Black man is looking down from heaven to smile on the drop in unemployment (“George is smiling down. It’s a good day for George.”) to only slightly higher than the Great Depression and the deaths from covid top 106,000 and there is an earthquake (tiny, just 5.5) in California and a hurricane bears down on Florida and an asteroid the size of the Empire State Building is set to pass tomorrow night. All is well.

Of course at 3:44—I didn’t even have to look at my watch—I completely crashed, totally emotionally freaked. Sat on the couch sobbing. Called my beleaguered brother who talked me down from the cliff: Don’t jump, you don’t want to miss the asteroid.

More bad news and live action appearances of ghouls from my sordid past until late at night I call my astrologer friend who is so reassuring: I told you so.



Day 84 6/6/2020

As a clear sign of my disintegrating mental health I read the news feed on my phone before I get out of bed. The Great Unnameable tells the interviewer, “I’ve done a lot for religion.“

Ja, sure, you betcha.

I listen to the ceremony of Philip transferring the Chosen Chief role to Eimer. It is so moving. I cry. But I have been crying all day by then. If this is Venus transiting, well, she is kicking my ass. I pour myself a wee dram at 3:30 in the afternoon and text Stephanie. She says she just poured one for Philip. This is the great boon of the virtual age: We can drink and cry together thousands of miles and an ocean apart.



Day 85 6/7/2020

A funny strange day, mostly worried, I s’pose. I paint a picture, take a walk. Sort of aimless after such a big push. Around 5 pm I go out for another walk and stop to say hi to my neighbor across the street. He invites me to come have a glass of wine. WHAT?!?! Socializing? With humans? Off screen? Lawd, Lawd, Lawd. So I sit in their back yard, yes we are careful to stay 6’ apart, drinking Two Buck Chuck. Eventually eating a rather horrid broccoli casserole. But we sat and we talked IN PERSON.. I’m telling you, 85 days is way way too long to stay isolated. We’re still very restricted here, 12,214 deaths in New Jersey and counting. But we sat together and laughed and talked and drank drek wine that tasted like heaven, halle-fuckin-lujah!



Day 86 6/8/2020

Again I worried. The paper still isn’t back from Emma. I am at loose ends. How bad is it, well, let’s just say I washed all the indoor windows and pulled weeds out of the pickle bushes out front. I walked down to the coffee shop and got an iced latte. Sat in the Catholic Cemetery and drank it amid all the dead Catholics, reading the foreign sounding names of long-dead immigrants. Stone angels. Shade trees. The gardener snoozing in his pickup with the motor on to run the air conditioning. Not a bad place to be on a summer day. No tv, no internet, no quotes from the Twitter-twat. Four former Commanders in Chief have denounced him publicly today. Who wants to hear all that? Who wants to watch police snuff videos? I start a new painting of a teeny tiny city with huge UFO’s coming through interplanetary space toward it. Waiting for the spacecrafts to dry I make an iced wine and fizzy water and take it to the plaza and read for a while. At 9 pm Emma sends the draft of the paper. Too late to start on it tonight.



Day 87 6/9/2020

The paper looks beautiful. I hold it to my chest and walk through the apartment crying.

myself  it speaks and spells,

Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

I finish the picture of spacecraft coming in through the darkness of space.

I make an appointment to get a haircut on the first day the salon opens.

So, you see, the isolation ends, the paper is finished, things are returning to normal.

Oooops, another Black man is choked to death on camera.

America, America, God shed  his grace on thee…

You know the rest.



Day 88 6/10/2020

Early. Muggy. Promises to be a hot sticky day. And fulfills that promise righteously. I walk out early with a cup of coffee in my hand. My summer habit—get out while the gettin’s good, as my Dad used to say. I walk up Nassau street. This is the week that New Jersey is supposed to “open up.” Come back with a roar as the cowardly lion in the White House likes to say, holding up fiddled numbers and altered charts. We gave up verbal truth months ago, but “the numbers don’t lie” t’was said. Well, now the numbers lie,

I digress. I walk up Nassau Street where stores have been closed up for months, only now there’s a difference: They aren’t closed up. They are CLOSED. Windows papered over, fixtures removed. The weird little shoe shore, CLOSED. Panera, CLOSED. The strange cigar store with a genuine Cigar Store Indian out front, CLOSED. A couple of storefronts that I can’t even remember what was in there, EMPTY. OFFICE SPACE AVAILABLE. I walk along and come to Starbucks and lo! And behold! It is OPEN. Iliane, the dancing barrista, standing behind a plastic sneeze shield, dispensing take-out orders. Around the corner Small World Coffee is OPEN.  Come IN and get your take-out order, NO MORE THAN 4 PEOPLE IN THE STORE AT A TIME.

There was quite a bit of partying on Memorial Day weekend when the wee little emperor declared that AMERICA IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS. Then the demonstrations started (and continue). Now, of course, there is a surge in covirus cases in 19 states. (NJ isn’t one of them, we’ve BEEN surging—12,600 deaths so far.). Dr Fauci, who is now seen as a pariah says the US could reach 2,000,000 cases by August and deaths could top 200,000. Well, who knew?

Hold that thought: WHO KNEW?



Day 89. 6/11/2020

I put all the books back in the bookcase, take down the self-contract from the wall. It feels like I am packing up to leave my magical Writer’s Retreat in the Mountains, cleaning my cabin, getting ready to take my suitcase down to the bus stop. I probably should not have put a timeline, magical or otherwise to the retreat construct. Because, although I have tidied up, there is not suitcase. There is no bus stop. There is no bus.

I realize dimly, fuzzily, that I cannot nap my way through this. I can only take so many walks. I think of what’s next and I draw a blank. I think of Merton in his cabin next to Gethsemene. His aloneness. I think I should embrace this aloneness as my life and stop fighting it. Only Merton went to the Abbey for prayers and work, commuted from his loneliness, so to speak. I hesitate to say this, but I still think there’s something yet to come and the self-absorbed me wonders if it is just another magical construct.

For now I am drinking another cup of coffee.



Day 90 6/12/2020

And the weirdness continues. I had a long talk with a friend on WhatsApp. She told me that she had a few out-of-the-blue interactions with friends present and past who had “issues” and brought up ancient stuff, ending in altercations and painful processing. I told her that I too had been receiving “bad news and live action appearances of ghouls from my sordid past.” Little did I know. My friends and my brother arranged to have a Zoom party to celebrate the completion of my paper. I got dressed, put on makeup even, walked to the liquor store and paid $25 for a small bottle of champagne. I won’t go into a whole lot of description about the 2 ½ hour gathering, except to say that we got into a discussion of race and race relations and things were said—It’s not our job to make white people feel comfortable, for instance. I got increasingly uncomfortable and felt dissed. And maybe I was, who knows? Anyhow I called my brother right afterwards and he yelled at me and we got into a lopsided stupid painful argument, totally unexpected. Hurtful.

No need to reiterate emotionally charged details, so I will just say that this is happening all over the place. The protests and riots continue unabated, the money is about to run out, the coronavirus is spiking in new parts of the country and the world. The strain of the last few months has left us drained and exhausted. We reach down into ourselves for our reserves and find the dregs and detritus and fossilized shit of our individual and collective histories instead of brilliant internal courage and resilience.

I think of the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz after the flying monkeys attacked him: Flopped on the ground with his stuffing coming out.

I’m mad. I wanted to be silly. Singing.



Day 91 6/13/2020

“Good gods, this looks superb!” Philip’s response to the paper. I sit on the couch and cry. Release, relief, gratitude. Spend the rest of the day outside among people—long lunch outside with Eliane, long walk to the river, long drinks with the neighbors. Feel content, less strained, less hung up about the events of yesterday. Come in late and turn on the TV while I eat a salad.

Oooops, another Black man is shot in the back—to death—by cops,  on camera.

… and crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea.



Day 92 6/14/2020

I go for a drive. Funny how this used to be something not worth mentioning, especially in Colorado where you drive to the mailbox down the street. And those long high drives up and over the pass and across South Park, the bottom of a prehistoric sea. Past buffalo, past dinosaur tracks, past old ranchhouses deliquescing in the winds of winter. 100 miles to get a cuppa coffee at the Brown Dog Café.

Anyhow, I go for a drive to Lawrenceville where they have a drive-thru Starbucks. I try to explore the back roads coming home, but end up in a loop back to where I stopped for coffee. I carry on up the road to Princeton and there on my left is a lavender farm. No, not a farm painted lavender, but a farm growing lavender. Rows and rows of lavender. I pull in and buy a lavender bouquet, a lavender sleep mask, lavender honey. The woman asks me if I want to walk down to see the goats. (Why would she ask that?) She says they are down there, pointing, wait, I’ll walk down with you. So, she closes the door on the little shop and we walk down a path that smells like lavender to the goat pen where 7 or 8 baby goats press against the fence for treats. I hold out my hand and feed them, they lick the salt from my fingers. The sun is shining. Where has all the terror gone? Where is the seeping virus, the civil unrest, the wobbly head of state who can’t lift a glass to his lips? It’s just goats and sunshine and lavender and a new friend walking with me.



Day 93 6/15/2060

I walk up to Mother Princeton with my morning coffee. I sit in the sun in the garden, profuse with flowers and birdsong. An elderly couple walks past holding hands, smiling, wishing me good morning. I swear they look like Adam and Eve. Shining. I realize in that moment that I am happy. There was a time not long ago when I thought I would never be happy again, followed by moments in these recent days of feeling I would expire from isolation and loneliness. So, what am I doing, sitting here being happy? The world is fucking falling apart, darling.

I think about the Declaration of Independence asserting our right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuitof happiness. Why not the right to Life, Liberty, and Happiness? Maybe it’s the pursuit that’s killing us. Our endless pursuit of growth, profit, more of everything. I wondered if I could disassociate myself from this and just be happy. Immediately I think, How can you be happy when there is so much suffering in the world? And that too is a guilt mechanism designed to keep us striving.

I sit in the garden and I think about being happy. I swat at the logismoi that want to measure if I deserve it, if it is a zero sum game and my happiness is somehow depriving another of theirs. Circle me, Lord, the old Caim Prayer;

Circle me LORD

Keep loneliness out, keep happiness in

Circle me LORD

Keep striving out, keep contentment in

Circle me LORD

Keep angst out, keep this holy moment in

Look, if the coronavirus can seep and creep and ooze unseen, unsmelt, undetectable among us, what if the ooze of happiness were let loose? Just sayin’.



Day 94 6/16/2020

With the submission of my paper my mental construct of the 40-day writer’s retreat ends. I wonder if I should set up another 40 days. In some ways this feels like a prisoner scratching on the cell wall to remind himself what day it is. Even though I no longer feel like a prisoner, I continue the habit. How many other such habits have we, singularly and as a nation, formed during this last 3 months? It seems to me that we are all more than a little mentally unstable. The wee little emperor stumbles and falters as he walks down a gentle ramp, has to pick up his water glass with both hands. Is this apocryphal? Are we all losing mental and physical muscle tone?

I walk down to the river and sit on a stone bench, writing , as people in  little kayaks float by. Honestly, it looks like so much fun, but the people are not smiling and laughing. Why? I don’t want to go all Jeremiah and negative here, but feel compelled to acknowledge what I feel as the Lurk. The Lurk of the pandemic, the Lurk of civil unrest, the Lurk of instability, the gentle pinprick hole in the dyke.



Day 95 6/17/2020

Jesus, now they’re finding Black men hanging from trees. In several States. Ruled suicides. I dunno….does a 20-year-old Black man crawl way out onto far limb of a tree holding a noose in one hand? Does he tie the rope around the limb while he struggles to maintain his balance? Does he slip the loop around his neck and ease himself to the edge of the branch and then jump? I can’t quite get a grasp of the mechanics of this. And when there are two found together, did they help each other out setting up? I climbed a lot of trees when I was a child, always with a book in one hand. I’m telling you it’s not as easy as it looks, climbing a tree with a book in your hand, and I never could climb out to the far end of a limb. Of course I was a girl.



Day 96 6/18/2020

Every once in a while I am flattened by a book. Meaning I have to lie down and read it and can’t get up until I reach the end. So today it’s James McBride’s Deacon King Kong. Flattened. I never get off the couch, finishing it just as it becomes too dark to read.

Inspired.

And I think, inspire, now there’s a word. Breathe. When all the messages in all the media are screaming, “I can’t breathe!” whether it be the voice of the coronavirus patient waiting for a ventilator or the voice of the Black man under the knee of the cop, or the millions marching in the streets holding signs.

And I think about the Creator God breathing life into, breathing into life. And I think maybe the antibody is breath, and breath is inspiration, and inspiration is not just God blowing life into us, but us inhaling.

I take a yoga class. My teacher says, over and over, Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.



Day 98 6/19/2020

Juneteenth. The celebration of the end of slavery in the United States. Well, what can we say? The end of slavery AND the day of the most egregious ethnic cleansing in American history as an entire Black township in Tulsa was burned to the ground and 350 of  its people killed by a rampaging white mob. So, who do you suppose is going to Tulsa to have a huge rally of 19,000 unmasked people in a closed space, shouting, during a virulent pandemic spread by people crammed together in closed spaces breathing heavily?  Wait, I’ll give you three guesses. …

OK time’s up.

So we watch on our pretty little color TV sets as the two crowds of people claim the same streets. Then we get scared and turn off the news.



Day 99 6/20/2021

I’m writing this early in case the world comes to an end. The summer solstice, a full ring of fire solar eclipse, planet X approaching the earth, all the really juicy stuff of a full apocalypse. (I just mis-typed, and wrote apocalypso, so maybe we’ll dance our way into oblivion), Mayan prophecies. The Vision of the Pope. A possible sink hole swallowing up the city of Tulsa in a matter of seconds, no survivors but the CNN crew. (OK, I made that up.). A few minutes on the internet is all it takes to convince you that you don’t have to clean house after all. And fuck the bills.

So that leaves me with the day off on the last day of Earth. I’m going outside.



Day 100. 6/21/2020

So, the world did not come to an end. And the little emperor’s rally (“Millions will come!!! Millions!!!) was a flop which provided some glorious images of the little feller talking to an empty theater. There is a God. But we knew that.

My friend takes me on a walk in a magnificent woodland. In and under the full canopy of trees, “green bathing” as Philip calls it. 2 hours of Earth time in the Enchanted Forest. Life inside the bubble is good. So what if the epidemiologists are gravely concerned and the sociologists are predicting total societal collapse? The birds are singing, sunlight is streaming. I think I’ll take Scarlett’s advice and “Think about this tomorrow.” (Pssst, don’t tell the Trickster.)



Day 101 6/22/2020

One of the lessons one learns when grieving is that you cannot make it stop, nor can you make it disappear, nor let up, nor magically provide a re-do or a re-write or a return to halcyon days. Nor can you even hold on to clear memories of halcyon days, for that matter. Did I say, “one of the lessons?” And go on to list several? Well OK, my little grammarian friend. But as I was saying…. Which leads me to my brilliant insight of the day: America is grieving. The whole country collectively and individually is grieving, and we are acting out. We want it to stop. So our fearless leader simply declares it stopped. We are OPEN. We can all go out again, why, we don’t even have to wear masks if we don’t want to because we are FREE and FREE people can’t be made to do what they don’t want to do (like wear masks). We CAN make it disappear because we can play an elaborate (and deadly) made-up game of half peek-a-boo, half Russian roulette. We can have a re-do by simply forgetting the “do.” We can stop the coronavirus easily, says the Brilliant Mind on the Hill, easy-peasy, we just stop testing. Cuz you know, if you test, you get cases. Then the numbers go up. So I am ordering the government to slow down the testing. If those damn numbers would just stop going up, you would see what I mean.

I’m thinking instead of opening parks and restaurants we should erect a Wailing Wall in every Main Street plaza in the Greatest Country on Earth. Shriek for a while. See if it clears our heads.



Day 103 6/23/2020

Ok, so here it is, folks. The New Normal. Of course, that is a hype message. Meant to make us believe that we have triumphed over the present and can re-embrace the past and assume the future is rosy. Well, we’ll see. Right now our attention is diverted by the complete disintegration of our Justice system: corruption, resignations, firings. It finally dawns on me that the wee little man doesn’t want to be President again (because it’s not fun anymore) but he knows that the minute he steps back into private life he will probably go to jail. He has bought off and fought off and fired and re-hired and it’s starting to box him in. Problem is, even if we get rid of him we don’t have a plan of what to do next. We need some blue-painted Druidesses to stand bare-breasted on the shore and shriek.

Enough. And now the good news. My paper was published yesterday AND I got a haircut and dyed my hair blue again. I went to my favorite coffee shop and bought a latte and a scone and sat on a bench outside with real people coming and going on the sidewalk next to my bench. So ok, the New Normal looks weird with everyone wearing masks, and the eyes of the wait staff and hairdressers and shopkeepers above the masks look worried. So we step into the street to avoid one another and we don’t smile. Why bother, no one can see.

Still, we have “opened the economy.” Right?

They’re pulling down statues all over the place. Bye bye Jefferson Davis, bye bye Teddy Roosevelt, any day now they will topple Ozymandius, King of Kings.

2,360,000 cases in the US, 122,000 deaths and spiking.



Day 104 6/24/2020

A very slow start. I do my studies, but can’t make it through 20 minutes of meditation. I wander, I read a bit, I take a nap. (It’s summer in Jersey. Naps are compelling and frequent.) At some point I look in the empty cupboards and think if I don’t get a green salad I am going to die. End of the soup-after-soup-after soup days. So, I go to the grocery store to get a head of lettuce and buy so many fruits and vegetables that my refrigerator looks like a farmer’s market.

I watch the news, catch the Cuomo brothers, Chris the CNN anchor and Andrew the Mayor of New York. At first it’s an interview, by the end they are talking about Pops, the former Governor, how he has guided them through this time—“Just do the right thing.,”—end up telling each other that they love each other, Chris openly crying. I’m tellin’ ya….

One of you-know-who’s former henchmen, Bolton the Fuck, has written a tell-all book, letting us know all the things he refused to testify at the impeachment hearings. We’re shocked! We’re outraged! We are angry at HIM for being his true fucked self, refusing a subpoena and cashing in on his $2M book deal. All the attention is on HIM, while the disheveled Mastermind of the Once Greatest Country in the World stands behind the scenes and slaps his dick, pretends Great Rage, and appoints his 200thjudge, ousts all farm workers and food processors on green cards, and makes it OK again to dump industrial waste in rivers and run leaky pipelines directly under the flyways of the migratories.

Ah God, I can’t keep suggesting we shriek. If we tear out our hair the Beauty Parlors will all go out of business again. (Millions of stylists out of work just as the assistance checks dry up.). We can go around toppling statues until we run out of them I s’pose, but we can’t topple the White House. The Great Pink and White Blob promised to “drain the swamp” in order to get into office. Well, the swamp is drained, and guess who lives at the bottom? Grendl’s mother.



Day 105. 6/25/2020

Hot and Sticky. Welcome to New Jersey summer. Lots of people are outside now. They’ve taken Witherspoon Street down to one lane and the restaurants all along have set up tables and umbrellas in what used to be the parking lanes. The plaza is now half its former size with the two eateries pushing out halfway across. All across America bars and pools and tanning salons and hairdressers (This is who we are, I guess, drinkers, eaters, partyers, lookin’ good.) are teeming with sweaty unmasked throngs of people pushing up against one another. We’ll see, I s’pose. The Governor of Texas has a freaked look in his eyes cuz he let all the hoo-has out with a clarion call to save the economy. (I seem to recall that he was the one who said some of the old people would be willing to die for the economy.) Well, we’ll see.



Day 106 6/26 2020

OK, we’re seeing. Largest single spike in cases EVER, even in the heyday of New York. 44,702 new cases in one day yesterday. And it’s not the old people giving their lives to save MacDonald’s, it’s the young people leaving the bars to line up at the hospital. The Governor of Texas closes the bars. (That there is dang’rous bi’ness in Texas. Them Longhorns will die of starvation if they have to live on food and water for a week.). The Governor of Florida has closed the beaches again. (So much for the new thong bikini I just ordered on Amazon. Dang! Those spacesuits they wear in the ICU are just so unattractive.)

I tell you it’s gotten (My father just rolled over in his grave hearing me use that word. But, as the Drag Queen at the Pride Parade once said to me when I said my father was rolling in his grave, “Well that’s OK, honey, cuz at that stage it’s about all the exercise they get.”) so bad they had to release all the children they had locked up in cages at the southern border.

People in another state held a meeting, excoriating (See dad, I just used a bigger word.) the DEMOCRATS who are taking away their FREEDOM and VIOLATING their FIRST AMENDMENT RIGHTS. OK, whoever is writing this movie has simply GOT to back off the Adderall. (Symptoms of Addwell abuse include, being overly talkative, unusual excitablility social withdrawal, financial troubles, aggression, secretive behavior, exhaustion, memory loss, incomplete thoughts, relationship problems, decline in personal hygiene (Listen up, Texans,), overwork or overconcentrating, disorientation, mania, impulsive behaviors.)



Day 107 6/27/2020

I have to go have a covid test today in order to qualify for my cataract surgery.

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