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Gotta say. Coronavirus is every Jewish mother’s dream!
My kids are calling me every day!
Other than that, the Apocalypse is pretty boring.
My concentration span has shrunk to roughly the size of a pea. All I seem to be capable of doing is logging on to social media so I can bicker with strangers. I’m playing both sides against the middle! If they’re Trump supporters, I lambast them for their idiot refusal to take distancing measures seriously; if they’re progressives, I ridicule them for their paranoia. It’s great fun!
I know my first covid-19 test positive! It’s the Future Mother of (Someone Else’s, Alas Not Mine) Unborn Grandchildren.
She’s a nurse practitioner, so high risk. She hasn’t gotten very sick.
Max got back together with Mia. Mia now has two (count ‘em), two boyfriends vying for her favor! While Max only has Mia.
We somehow had a conversation about this, which, of course, was extremely ill-advised on my part.
“Well, you know, I like Mia—“
“That’s the third time you’ve said that! Okay! You like Mia! But—“
I sighed. “Well. Can I be candid with you?”
“Of course!”
Shut up now, Patrizia! said the small inner voice. But when did I ever take advice from small inner voices?
“Well. She’s such an attention whore.”
Yes, I did use the word “whore.”
“She’s now the center of everyone’s attention, which of course, is exactly where she wants to be. And that’s very manipulative. And you’re setting yourself for a fall.”
Ugh! When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?
But if you can’t speak honestly when you’re gonna die from the 21st century equivalent of the Black Death, when can you speak honestly?
Anyway.
When I woke up this morning, I felt as though my concentration span was widening a little.
It might now be capable of transforming little squiggles on a printed page into thoughts and images in my mind, which means I can now resume reading The Mirror and the Light.
Please don’t die, Thomas Cromwell! I find myself begging Hilary Mantel’s character on every page.
But, of course, he must.
That’s history.
My kids are calling me every day!
Other than that, the Apocalypse is pretty boring.
My concentration span has shrunk to roughly the size of a pea. All I seem to be capable of doing is logging on to social media so I can bicker with strangers. I’m playing both sides against the middle! If they’re Trump supporters, I lambast them for their idiot refusal to take distancing measures seriously; if they’re progressives, I ridicule them for their paranoia. It’s great fun!
I know my first covid-19 test positive! It’s the Future Mother of (Someone Else’s, Alas Not Mine) Unborn Grandchildren.
She’s a nurse practitioner, so high risk. She hasn’t gotten very sick.
Max got back together with Mia. Mia now has two (count ‘em), two boyfriends vying for her favor! While Max only has Mia.
We somehow had a conversation about this, which, of course, was extremely ill-advised on my part.
“Well, you know, I like Mia—“
“That’s the third time you’ve said that! Okay! You like Mia! But—“
I sighed. “Well. Can I be candid with you?”
“Of course!”
Shut up now, Patrizia! said the small inner voice. But when did I ever take advice from small inner voices?
“Well. She’s such an attention whore.”
Yes, I did use the word “whore.”
“She’s now the center of everyone’s attention, which of course, is exactly where she wants to be. And that’s very manipulative. And you’re setting yourself for a fall.”
Ugh! When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?
But if you can’t speak honestly when you’re gonna die from the 21st century equivalent of the Black Death, when can you speak honestly?
Anyway.
When I woke up this morning, I felt as though my concentration span was widening a little.
It might now be capable of transforming little squiggles on a printed page into thoughts and images in my mind, which means I can now resume reading The Mirror and the Light.
Please don’t die, Thomas Cromwell! I find myself begging Hilary Mantel’s character on every page.
But, of course, he must.
That’s history.
