work in progress

I’m thinking of writing a hard-driving workin’ man kinda country song that starts with the line:
I was born /with Uranus/ in retrograde.
I’ve broken /hard rocks /with my head
I’m an accident that moves around
you better pray I skip your town
Cause people … around me … end up dead.
at this point I should prob’ly mention that Uranus spends forty percent of every year in retrograde and the term only exists because of its motion relative to earth rather than to the sun so it’s all horseshit
as you were!
I feel really shitty right now. Very likely it’s my allergies – everyone is complaining about them in the PNW, but lawks. It makes you question every quiver of your body, which is not good for mental health.

Plague Year diary March 18

Mike, safely home with my earnest thankfulness, will not be returning to Denver before the end of this year. My relief is great. He is now in the second day of his quarantine; he transferred a simply whacking amount of cash into my account from which I will draw money for his groceries and, er, other consumables, which I will then purchase and leave outside his door.

What a life.

’emergencies’ are being declared from Malaysia to Slovenia to Australia.

Gen Xers are fighting with their parents to stay the fuck home, and they’re being ignored, as the Boomer parents drive all over hells half acre and do whatever they want because the coronavirus is a big hoax, you know.

Not being able to understand the implications of exponential math is kind of a drag, eh wot?

The kids are both still working; they don’t deal with the public.

Alex’s school is now closed; the daycare, apparently, is still open. I am still without symptoms and thus prepared to step into the childcare breach.