It's hard not to write just about single days. "Tomorrow is Friday, and today is Thursday," I said into my computer screen a few hours ago. "Yes," the faces there said back at me, using their fingers to make sure. "Yes, and yesterday was Wednesday."
Today a journalist interviewed Diego about His Life As An Essential Worker. Then he went back to putting tape on the floor so that the nurses and doctors (because no one else is out) (because there are so many staying at neighborhood hotels) know how far apart to stand while they wait for their breakfasts. (We're shipping them in. I don't know how to talk about it so I'll just tell you about the tape on the floor.) (One foot in front of the other.) Meanwhile back at the farm, Joe and I taped cardboard tubes to the wall and dropped pom poms through them. We updated lists of purchase orders and strung some wooden beads and sent approximately fifteen hundred emails. We organized toys and smashed Play-Doh. We snuggled a lot. We had a Fleetwood Mac dance party. I cried more than a little to "Sara" which hopefully signals the start of my menses because I cannot fucking imagine being pregnant right now.
I forgot to feed Papi Choo Choo this morning because his tiny little baby meow isn't nearly as abrasive as Griffon's. (Too sad, can't.) Don't worry, I eventually remembered. We're all doing our best.
(Joe is super good at stringing beads. Please let me know if you'd like a necklace and I'll ask her if she has time to make you one.)
