Afraid I’m losing the plot today. The drip drip drip of bad news wears one down. I shouldn’t complain right? Everyone I know is okay. Actually we all need to complain for the millions who aren’t. That’s my only Pollyanna (thinking of others) moment for the day. Bad mood me. Big cry baby Marjorie.
So tomorrow’s another day. My birthday. I was supposed to be going to bed early tonight in San Diego so Scott and I could be up by 4/5am to climb Black Mountain and then later in the day go out for my annual borscht extravaganza. Well, maybe I’ll go to bed early anyway. Because.
I made it to Costco to pick up meds. Scarf over my mouth, blue plastic gloves on. Straight back to the pharmacy. Straight home. My doc gives me prescriptions for a couple of extra meds for emergencies that I take along when I travel (like lyme disease in Norway or the near-death thing in Kyrgyzstan). I loaded up on all of them today…in case I must go live on ‘the old place’ in Minnesota, camped back in the woods, growing potatoes for the winter, living on dandelion greens and frogs this summer.
I’m only writing this because I vowed that starting April 1st I would daily-document the rest of pandemic-time so that when I publish 2020’s blog book there is something in it to commemorate the year…since it certainly won’t be tales of travel.
New Mexico’s numbers are climbing pretty rapidly for a state with only a couple of million people. Six people have died. I think most of them are old. But a 104 year-old-guy from somewhere in the world just recovered so there’s the glass-half-full perspective.