I’m feeling much more productive today than I was yesterday. I got up a little later than I meant to, but I got started right away on cleaning and marking off a few persistent items from my to-do list while my wife ventured out to find us some groceries.
It took her two stores, and she still didn’t find any toilet paper. We aren’t low, and she may try again in the morning. She also had to stop by her job for a few things to continue working from home. It terrifies me every time she leaves the house, but we need things. We have no choice.
Soon I will work on writing something and perhaps, if I don’t wear out my will or motivation, I’ll get around to finishing one of these damned books I’ve been struggling with for months.
Today marks 90 days into the year and nearly the end of another month. Who would have thought the year would turn out like this? Who would have thought the Spring would bring such tidings of fear and death? I always think I’m being over dramatic or weak, but every day the numbers of infections, hospitalizations, and deaths increase and the projections and predictions grow more dire.
I hate being stuck inside. I’m bored and irritable, but it’s the only place I feel safe now.
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