Nightmares don’t awaken me. They greet my reluctantly opening
eyes at the dawn of each worthless, godforsaken, pandemic day.
Another groaned, “Oh gawd, not again”, best sums up my mood.
Damn it! Still imprisoned by that insufferable, infantile, narcissistic
ideologue, who walks hand-in-hand with a microbe. They set forth
on a whistle-stop tour thru the diseased nation of their own making.
Chronicling the passage of time are my rapidly growing lawn and
hedge; the clockwork-like blooming of the seasonal perennials: the
computer chronometer; the refuse / recycling trucks’ weekly arrival.
Throwing open the dining room curtains; that “Have a Nice Day”
scene aids and abets that unseen by the naked eye, lurking bio-
hazard. Even a minor miscue could mean it’s curtains! I’m toast!
Next up, the no motivation, no-frills food prep; that same old /
same old fare; all served up, piping hot, upon a table overlooking
the A.M., freeze frame, window to the world, that I no longer know.
From my front porch, I view my hood’s furloughed workers’ parked
grimy cars; windshields plastered by avian, avant-garde artists. The
once unnoticed, whooshing breezes, cast an otherworldly ambience.
Endless hours spent surfing the Net; gaining solace from my blogging
and perusal of the written and split-screen content posted by other
socially isolating souls. Will our noble efforts wind up all for naught?
At times, come the unavoidable, leave my protective bubble, masked,
ventures into town, to post remittances and lay in provisions. I cherish
the “Do you think it’s gonna rain?” chitchat with a grocery store cashier.
Such impromptu confabs inspire a stray tear of joy; ditto that, my home
repairs’ completed Hail Mary Passes; when my hood’s rabbits don’t fear
and flee me; when I pluck a lucky four-leaf clover they hadn’t scarfed.
By dusk, more no-motivation, no-frills food prep; that same old /
same old fare, all served up, piping hot, upon a table overlooking
the P.M. freeze frame, window to the world, that I no longer know.
Evening brings binge re-watching of ancient dramas / sitcoms; narratives
so familiar, verbatim delivery of the protagonists’ lines comes EZ. By the
stroke of 12, it’s one more calendar rectangle to “x” off; time to nod off.