May 2020

It’s time to clear the decks again, I think.

I’m about six weeks into this new world, one of isolation and quiet beyond measure. My father’s absence is always lingering in the background. There are a few small measures I still need to take on his behalf. I’ve put them off as much as possible, but I think they will need to be dealt with this week. Earlier today, I had a conversation with one of his former colleagues; a conversation that yielded no particular outcomes or anything of any real interest to anyone outside my family, and there is absolutely no reason to write about it here.

The truth is that this is one of those days that make me wonder why on Earth I would bother with a project like this. I have nothing to say. Nothing happened. I did nothing remarkable and certainly nothing worth remembering. I woke up late. I made coffee. I had a conversation with my brother about the funeral, which is set for a week from Saturday and I’ll have to travel. I’m thinking of getting a hotel to have a quiet place away from the kids, but I’m wondering if I should bother spending the money.

I dealt with the aforementioned conversation. I had a documentary about the Clutter murders running in the background. I worked on stuff. No, seriously, I worked on stuff. This was twelve hours ago and I’m wracking my brain trying to remember what I worked on today. Surveys, maybe? I know I sent out at least one. And I think I finished up the Severe Weather Action Plan I’ve been working on for the past couple weeks. I’m on the seventh or eighth draft at this point, which seems silly when I say it out loud. No shit, I genuinely can’t remember. I know I talked to my boss for thirty minutes or so about….something. Again, twelve hours ago and I couldn’t tell you if you held a gun to my head.

It rained, but there weren’t storms. It was cold, but it wasn’t freezing. I walked in a drizzle for four miles. I talked to my brother, my sister and my mother, each for about fifteen minutes. Everyone’s fine. No one seems to know how to feel about having Dad’s funeral six weeks after his death, but I know that we all need it to be over. I zoned out making dinner and added a tablespoon of salt to something that only required a small pinch. I watched a documentary about baseball’s PED scandal while I ate, and I was not blown away or even all that interested. I’ve been toying with having sparkling water delivered through Amazon’s subscribe and stash or save or whatever it’s called. The containers are overpacked and I’m certain the drivers hate me. I played a little “Madden” after dinner, traded more texts with my brother, responded to some e-mail and now I’m here, doing this, which feels like the same amount of nothing that’s accompanied the previous fifteen hours.

You see what I mean?

Why am I writing about this?

I know that there are topics I’d like to cover here, but I can’t put anything together about them right now. I’ve been trying to nail down some thoughts for a series on the whole “True Crime” explosion. I read an article by a British woman, complaining about living alone during quarantine, and I had thoughts. I could be writing about them, but I’m not because I can’t see an end to it, nor can I see a reason to put them out there.

What’s it like living alone during all of this?

Honestly, it’s not that different from living alone before all of this.

It’s given me an excuse to explore having groceries delivered and branch out from my usual GrubHub spots.

Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Bottom line, what the fuck was that? Was that a day? Or was it a quarantine day? Or would it have been roughly the same day without the quarantine?

The fuck am I even saying?

I suppose I’m saying that days like this one are the reason why journaling has never made sense to me. I do wonder if days like this are why people seem to be going stir-crazy right now.

I’m used to these days. I don’t really like them, but they’re not out of the ordinary for me. Again, I’m used to it. If this wasn’t my life before, and then suddenly this became my life, I’m sure it would drive me batshit. So, I get it, I guess. You call it cabin-fever. I call it Tuesday.

I don’t mind my life. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m over the moon with it or that I even like it, but it doesn’t bother me. It’s fine. It’s not exciting though. Not in the least. And today was indicative of that very fact.

Today was a day.

Odds are, I’ll have another quite like it before the week is out, and I’m certain that it doesn’t bother me, not really.

So, why the fuck did I write about it?

Maybe that’s not the question.

Maybe the question is, why the fuck did you read about it?