M - 22
Today we close out Week #3 of working remotely as social distancing continues. I'm trying hard to distance myself from the news but it's inevitable that some distressing info finds its way to me unannounced. And the culprit? My mom. She forwards me stuff from her friends about "new and more detailed information on how you should be sanitizing " or "best to strip off clothes after coming back from any store" and "your phone is a virus magnet." Vile, murderous cellphone! As information changes daily, it's easy to go bananas wondering if you're doing anything right. I find myself becoming overly self aware of an itch on my face that may be nowhere near my eye or mouth yet I rethink the last time I washed my hands and make a game day decision if its safe to itch. And the take out debate continues in our household.To take out, or not to take out, that is the question. And then there's the juxtaposition of tuning back to normal programming and getting an email from Perigold that "the new Bungalo bar stool is in!"
Throughout this isolation ordeal, my husband is morphing into an old man. He continually makes statements that are are seemingly unimportant, banal even. He lets me know that he's "going upstairs to use the bathroom" which is code for, "the bathroom will be unusable for some time." Thanks for announcing your regularity. Yesterday he got up and just said, "It's now seven o'clock" and walked away. Every Sunday, he tells me that "at some time today, I will take the recycle out.' Is this normal or the chilling, untold effects of the quarantine. Perhaps a pair of sneakers are in the cards that he can use to go out for a long walk. Velcro straps are a game changer.
Shifting gears to the house, the painters are mostly done except for the front door. Once the temps rise and the rain ceases, Benjamin Moore Newburyport Blue will make a bold, stately appearance on Concord Street. Today I became obsessed with deep discounts going on at West Elm. I have my eye on funky swivel chairs and a modern abstract rug for the lounge area in our kitchen. I resisted an impulse buy after realizing I should probably take some measurements of the space. So voila, my weekend now has. . .PLANS and I have a date with the tape measure!
Nighty Night
Throughout this isolation ordeal, my husband is morphing into an old man. He continually makes statements that are are seemingly unimportant, banal even. He lets me know that he's "going upstairs to use the bathroom" which is code for, "the bathroom will be unusable for some time." Thanks for announcing your regularity. Yesterday he got up and just said, "It's now seven o'clock" and walked away. Every Sunday, he tells me that "at some time today, I will take the recycle out.' Is this normal or the chilling, untold effects of the quarantine. Perhaps a pair of sneakers are in the cards that he can use to go out for a long walk. Velcro straps are a game changer.
Shifting gears to the house, the painters are mostly done except for the front door. Once the temps rise and the rain ceases, Benjamin Moore Newburyport Blue will make a bold, stately appearance on Concord Street. Today I became obsessed with deep discounts going on at West Elm. I have my eye on funky swivel chairs and a modern abstract rug for the lounge area in our kitchen. I resisted an impulse buy after realizing I should probably take some measurements of the space. So voila, my weekend now has. . .PLANS and I have a date with the tape measure!
Nighty Night
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