Pray, Meditate, Connect. Repeat.

My mom tested positive for corona virus.

As most of you know, my mom is in a nursing home with Alzheimer's where she has been declining for the past four and a half years. She is like an infant: she needs someone to feed her, bathe her, brush her teeth.

Last week, there were two cases of corona in her nursing home wing, and one of her healthcare providers tested positive. My mom had tested negative earlier in the week, but she probably didn't have enough of the active virus in her system at the time. I was relieved when she tested negative earlier in the week, but as one of my friends said "That can just got kicked down the road." Meaning, if corona doesn't kill her now, something else will later. Which is true. We all have to die of something.

Today in my recovery group, the conversation was around "What are you doing to keep you head above water during this time?"

This morning I woke up and I was back to my old pattern: obsessing and distraction. Instead of wondering if my mom was going to die, I started to stress that everyone in my company was going to get a 20% pay cut. They are forcing us to take a vacation day every Friday until further notice. I am not sure what is going to happen when we all run out of vacation days, especially since most of us don't accrue one vacation day a week. The company that owns my division is highly leveraged and I am guessing that when employees run out of vacation days, the parent company might just cut pay by twenty percent instead of laying people off. We are an essential service and we run very lean. It might be easier to cut everyone's pay instead of laying 20% of the people off. If they did that, who would do the work? I was going to look up the company's financial statement and write a "Fuck you" letter to the CEO and the Board of Directors for their irresponsibility, if in fact any of this is true. Maybe I should ask my dad or my friend Carla to look at their financial statements with me...

Which is when I realized I was spinning.

My old pattern was distract and obsess, or obsess and distract, and then connect with a friend to complain how awful my life is. Instead of pondering the mortality of my mother, I worried about my paycheck.

My mom isn't ill yet, but we have to make plans for what happens if she does. My mom has a living will and is DNR -- do not resuscitate. A nurse called my dad and asked him what he wants to do if my mom becomes ill: should they send her to the hospital?

My dad said yes, please send my mother to the hospital if needed should she become ill.

My first thought was "Noooooo! Do not send her to the hospital!" There was no real reason--it was just a gut reaction. I didn't say anything to my dad. I paused, and then called my Aunt Pat.

"Your father is going to do what he is going to do," she said. She wasn't being sarcastic or mean. She was wise.

Back to the question posed at my recovery group: How have I been keeping my head above water?

Pray

Meditate

Connect

------------

Repeat

I heard that prayer is asking God for help. Meditating is listening for the answer. Connecting is a way of tapping into someone else's higher power. Or maybe they are tapping into mine...

I thought about my mom as I was going to sleep. In the morning, I woke up and figured out why I didn't want my mom to go to the hospital. When she first moved to the nursing home, she was very agitated and afraid. She didn't know where she was or why she was the there. The unfamiliar scared her, and with her short-term memory loss, she didn't remember why she there. Would my mom be better off declining in a familiar place with people she knows?

I would tell my dad my fears, and let the rest belong to him. I need to honor that they have been married for more than fifty years. I can't imagine my mom dying alone, nor can I imagine what my father is feeling not being with her as she dies.

Today after my meeting, I took a four hour nap. I crashed. After that, I sat on my balcony with my dog and did nothing. I talked to Claire-Adele for a few minutes to tell her the news. I talked to my dad for a few minutes. It was so quiet. No noise from cars or planes or people or birds. I sunbathed and watched the smallest ants I've ever seen crawl up and down my bamboo. What is it going to mean when my mother dies?

May 2019 v May 2020

I wonder if there are other people out there who, like me, feel like May 2020 is actually better than May 2019.

This is not because I feel like May 2020 is awesome. Hardly. If I had to pick a year with the best May, I'd say 1998. That was the year I was pregnant with Ada and everything was right with the world. I was a golden girl, where nothing epically bad had ever happened in my life.

May 2019 was the month before the Boy left for Wilderness. I moved into the condo. Jack and I were at a point where we couldn't have a conversation for two hours that didn't end up with us screaming at each other.

I was lost.

This spring, even with the horrors of COVID and staying home, is so much better. I am so much more emotionally healthy, sane and stable. I was taking it all one day at a time, trying to keep serene.

And then.

My dad called to tell me my mom's nursing home has two cases of corona. One of my mom's caretakers who has been with her for years--has tested positive for corona.

My dad hasn't seen my mom in eleven weeks. We don't know what is going to happen. My mom has been in this nursing home since 2016 with Alzheimer's. She has almost no cognitive function left. She can smile and look at things, but that is about it. She has a DNR--do not resuscitate--order. She has a living will that says she does not want to be on a ventilator.

I see three possible outcomes:

1. Maybe she won't get corona
2. Maybe she will get corona and live
3. Maybe she will get corona and die

We don't know. Now we are just waiting. Whatever happens is not in my hands. I can just hope that my mom doesn't suffer regardless of what happens. I hope my mom's caretaker--a kind woman who has loved my mother during her last years--doesn't become to ill, either.

I feel bad for my dad during this time. He can't see my mom and if she does get sick, he won't be able to see her.

Current State

I had a dream about Expedia.

Expedia just built a beautiful new building along the waterfront in Seattle. I would see it as I would ride my bike along Elliott Bay, taking the detour as the main path was closed during construction. I am not sure if the new campus even opened before COVID.

Will it even open after the stay-at-home order is over? Who is booking travel? At least Expedia doesn't have the overhead of airlines, but man, there is one casualty of corona that I hadn't thought about before.

Speaking of the neighborhood, some of the shops downtown have gotten creative with their boarded up buildings. I saw an Associated Press photographer taking a pictures of some of the plywood art. I had to stop walking because he was shooting. I could have been a jerk and kept going, but then

1. He might have kept me in the picture. I wasn't wearing a mask at the time and I didn't want to get shamed all over the internet.
2. There was no one else on the sidewalk for blocks so I couldn't claim I didn't see him.

 Someone at my condo decided to get creative, too. Here is a design I saw this morning in the courtyard.

In other news, Dr. Fauci has more books than shelves. A man after my own heart!

His stack probably does not include The DaVinci Code and a bunch of therapy books, but hey! Fauci is busy literally trying to save the world whereas I am working from home, avoiding people and trying to escape reality. I should do a better job of stacking my books.

Last weekend, I cleaned up the balcony. It is looks amazing, which is great except I can't have anyone over for coffee or wine or whatever.

Finally, here is a picture of Elliott Bay.

"Bitch, Please!"

I was talking to the Boy about COVID. He told me he had seen something on the internet about people bemoaning that they hadn't seen their friends for two and a half months.

"Bitch, please!" he said. "I haven't seen my friends for eleven and a half months and I can't contact them by text or phone or anything."

Yeah.

COVID is my Wilderness

Last summer, the Boy spent three months in the wilderness. He and a group of ten boys had to cook all of their meals over a fire they started. There were no haircuts. No showers except maybe a dip in a pond, stream or river. They lost track of time as they had no clocks and no calendars. No porcelain. A vast majority of them abruptly left home and did not get a chance to say goodbye to their friends.

In the wilderness, the Boy learned to build a fire from sticks. He learned to make a backpack out of a tarp and nylon rope. He learned to cook.

He learned to feel his feelings and speak up and meditate and listen.

COVID is my wilderness.

I haven't seen my friends in months. I have had to cook all of my meals. My hair is long. I've lost track of time.

I have learned to feel my feelings and speak up and meditate and listen.

I have learned to be comfortable with my own thoughts. I have learned to pause, to be a better listener. I've learned to stop spinning and getting worked up. I have learned when I get frustrated to let go instead of squeezing tight. I have learned to let go instead of giving up, instead of staying "Screw it" or "I don't care."

I am feeling a quietness inside that I haven't felt in a very long time, perhaps ever. I asked a friend "What is the difference between peaceful and numb?" I couldn't tell where I was at because I have never felt this way before. Was it peace or was I numb?

"Numb is when you avoid or ignore your feelings. Peace is when you have feelings but they don't control you."

The Boy called me on Mother's Day.

He was calm and quiet. "I really don't have much to say," he said.

For my family, not needing to talk is a miracle. His mind wasn't racing, he wasn't on edge. He just was. He seemed peaceful, not numb.

It was good.

Intuition, Fellowship, or Both?

I have recently been reading Untamed by Glennon Doyle.

Wow. It is good.

(Which is the least useful book review ever.)

I am reading it on the Boy's Kindle, which I "borrowed" while he is in treatment. Doyle was an addict, then a perfect wife and mom when she realized she was in love with a woman.

I find reading about LGBTQ lives interesting. While I don't believe sexual or gender orientation is a choice, I believe deciding to live an authentic life is. Doyle's story of how she came to live an authentic life is fascinating. She is a rabid feminist, which is great. I consider myself a reasonably well informed feminist and I am learning a lot. Rather, I am seeing things I previously knew from a new perspective, particularly about toxic feminine expectations. (See: "Nice girls don't make people upset" and "You should smile more," BS created by the patriarchy to bring women down.)

As many of you know, the Boy was sent to Wilderness therapy almost a year ago where he spent eleven weeks in the high desert of southern Colorado. I feel like this COVID-season is my Wildie, a time for self-awareness and self-reflection.

(Or, I might take a break from reading books like Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning and re-read Harry Potter or The DaVinci Code.)

I've been working on not needing to take every issue big and small and run it past my committee of friends. In an interview, Doyle said that boys look inward to see what they need, and girls look outward.

I have been looking outward my whole life, asking everyone for advice. Now, I love my friends. I have a kickass, awesome committee that has never failed me. And yet, do I need to bring everyone into my every crisis? That sounds like a huge drag to be my friend. (Thank you friends for supporting me in crisis after crisis!)

COVID season, like Wilderness therapy for the Boy, is forcing me to look inside. Doyle suggests that our intuition, our higher Knowing, often the knows decision we are going to make anyway. If that is the case, do we really need to ask a dozen others?

We all need friends, that is obvious. We need companionship. We need shared experiences. Outside opinions are valuable. But what happens when our inner voice in incapable of hearing itself, or knowing what it already knows? Friends can't replace that.

This may sounds so plain and obvious to some, but it wasn't obvious to me.

Gasoline and Hummingbirds

I have a friend who is a germaphobe, which I kind of got and I kind of didn't.

Until I went to pump gas today.

Holy cow. That was scary.

Seriously.

In this COVID-season, I've been to the grocery store twice and I go to Pike Place Market to once or twice a week to buy vegetables, bread, butter and meat.* Pike Place Market is not crowded (I've heard horror stories about Costco) and it is open air so it doesn't feel like it is teeming with germs. I walk the dog regularly and every few days I go out to get coffee. And there are a significant number of days where I only leave my apartment to go to the lobby of the building. I cut through the courtyard and down the exterior steps and enter the front lobby from the street, not the elevator. I don't touch the hand rails.

I haven't gotten gasoline since February. I had a full tank coming into COVID, so I had enough gas to make short trips. Today, the "low fuel" light went on so I went to get gas.

I had to touch the pin pad to enter my QFC card to use my points to get a fuel discount. I didn't have any disinfectant wipes with me, so I tried to use one of their paper towels to put between my had and whatever I touched. The scanner didn't work so I had to punch in my number. Then I had to select my fuel grade. Then oh my god I had to touch the fuel line handle to put the nozzle in the tank. I tried the paper towel between my hand and the handle, but the paper didn't behave so my hand touched the metal, where COVID can live for three days.

I will probably be dead in two weeks. Maybe not. Most people haven't been driving so there are fewer people getting gas so therefore fewer people touching the nozzle handle.

On a happier note: birds. I saw three hummingbirds together n the courtyard today. I saw a yellow bird and a red bird, too. The red bird I think lives in my rosemary, which will make him quite delicious when I need to start scavenging for food.

Just kidding. 

This bird is way too small to eat.

The New York Times Puzzle Mania came to distract us from the inequities of death caused by Covid-19.
Yes, I am writing about things I see in the NYT because I don't get out ever.

Yeah.

Cute picture of Fox. Because we all could use a little cute, right?

* Mussels. I am really missing mussels. (And pho.) I would love a big bowl of mussels with broth, garlic, tomatoes, butter and wine with a side of toasted sourdough bread.

Puzzles and Hibernation

My Aunt Pat posted a meme on Facebook of Will Farrell saying "Isaac Newton invented calculus during a plague. You have to be really bored to invent calculus."

Yeah.

While I have not invented anything as cool as calculus (yet) during this stay-at-home order, I have crushed a bunch of puzzles--jigsaw and crosswords.

This is a new one wooden jigsaw puzzle I bought for my birthday.

After finishing that one in a few days, I went to the hardest jigsaw puzzle I've ever done: The Apple Tree by Gustav Klimt.

On the surface, it doesn't look like it would be that hard, but when all of the pieces are dumped on the table, they all look to be the same color, more or less. I now no longer look at the the picture when I do a jigsaw puzzle (unless I get really desperate.) In this puzzle, it really doesn't matter because the picture doesn't help much. The first time I did this puzzle, it took me about three months. In COVID season, I've worked on it for about three days and I am about halfway done.

The New York Times has expanded their daily puzzle section in the print edition. The online version has more puzzles, as well. I've even taken to doing the Cryptogram:

Somewhere along the way, I picked up this book, which explained some of the strategies for solving Cryptograms. I think I bought this at Bletchley Park when Claire-Adele and I went to London in 2018. Or maybe I got it at the University Bookstore.

Heck, it isn't just jigsaw puzzles, cryptograms and crosswords that have kept me busy. I've scored 77 points on Google Doodle Cricket. My friend Anderson played cricket in his youth and his goal was to score 100 runs in a game. I am close. (The game crashed on my phone when I got to 77. I am probably the only person who played it that much ever.)

I was reading the newspaper today (against my better judgment and for the sake of my mental health) and I saw that tomorrow the New York Times is going to publish a Puzzle Mania section, "Emergency Edition" just for COVID season with a giant crossword puzzle.

I am convinced that during this pandemic someone will complete the last section of Kryptos, the sculpture outside of the CIA just out of the power of boredom.

Why puzzles? From the Puzzle Mania link:

“People feel stressed — we all feel stressed — and puzzles are a great way to relieve that,” said Will Shortz, the crossword editor at The Times since 1993. “They make you feel better. You feel in control of life when you’ve finished a good puzzle.”

Control. That is what we all have been missing. But how do puzzles give us control? We apply our brain power to it and it can be solved and completed with an answer or conclusion, unlike the situation with corona where there is no answer on how to cure it, prevent it, or stop it. How do we restart the economy? Can we ever see our friends or co-workers again? The puzzles give us a sense of accomplishment, of completing something, even though that sense is short lived.

Better yet, it gives us a way to pass time. Solving a puzzle is like being in hibernation. They allow us to quietly pass time alone without going nuts. I am starting to think of COVID season as a flight to Mars: slow, long, and alone. I don't what it is going to be like when I get there, and I don't know if I will ever return back to what I used to know as home.

Obituaries and 61,000

I have been best trying to figure out how to consume the massive amounts of COVID news without it sending me into a massive depression. Sometimes I skip the news. Other times, I try to read something funny, like an article on how to dress on a Zoom date during the pandemic. Hint: wear pants.

Sixty-one thousand Americans have died from the corona virus. In two months. And this is very likely underestimated due to people who died who were not tested.

This seems to be a jolting number, like now this is getting real. Why is 61K a shocking number to me? Maybe in my mind I had the number of opioid deaths a year (2018) in the U.S. in the back of my mind: 67,300. Why do I consider opioids and not cancer or heart disease? Opioid deaths to me seem senseless and deeply preventable, and therefore extremely tragic.

I've been reading obituaries, mainly because there are so many, and there isn't much else in the newspaper with less arts, sports, and non-COVID news. While it is sad when people die, it is interesting to read about their lives. Some died from COVID, others did not. Here are three that struck me recently. I am sure there will be more.

Bernard Gersten worked on Broadway at the Public Theater with the famous Joseph Papp. Gersten was the nice, quiet guy who cleaned up many of the confrontational messes left by the hot-headed Papp. At the Public Theater, Gersten dealt with accounting, advertising and agents, things the creative Mr. Papp didn't like. Behind a great but difficult man was a mensch who made it possible for the first man to succeed.

Cesar Quirumbay was a men's tailor who worked for Leonard Logsdail in New York. Mr. Quirumbay made custom suits for the wealthy and the powerful. He emigrated to the U.S. in 1998 from Ecuador. He was married and had five children.

Irrfan Khan was a Bollywood actor who was in a few big Hollywood movies. The only movie I've seen with him was The Lunchbox which one of my colleagues from India recommended. (I recommend it, too.) I couldn't finish watching Slumdog Millionaire because I thought it was too sad, but Dev Patel is adorable.

Reading these, I think of what these people have accomplished, but more importantly it makes me think about how I want to spend whatever remaining time I have left. And it isn't so much about what I want to accomplish or what I want in my obituary. I have finally realized this is my time, and only my time. I have to decide how to spend it. I can fill it with angst, regret and resentments, or peace, love and serenity.

It isn't a hard choice.

The Roaring Twenties, Sparkle! and Word of the Day: Hero-Genius

When I was in high school, we never learned about the 1918 Flu. We learned about World War I, Prohibition, and the Roaring Twenties, but not about the pandemic.

Which got me thinking: what will we have to look forward to when this crisis is over? Will we have a period of paranoia and fear, or will people cut loose and live for today, just like a flapper?

I am voting for flappers. I am hoping our desire to connect and be part of something larger will override our (legitimate) fears and anxieties about this illness. While I am still in favor of an abundance of caution, I hope that when this is over we all will realize how much we have missed having fun, and how much we took for granted. The other day, I got carry-out dinner from the Old Stove Brewery at Pike Place Market, which was a post-work stomping ground with amazing views of Elliott Bay. (Did I say amazing? I meant spectacular. And I can't find a picture on my phone to prove it but trust me.) I texted my friends to say how much I missed happy hours at Old Stove.

"The things we took for granted!" my friend Anderson texted back. I am looking forward to when the Twenties will roar. By that I mean

• Going out dancing 
• Going to concerts where musicians play live music 
• Going to restaurants and hanging out and laughing with friends 
• Hiking in parks, picnicking with friends
• and my favorite -- Traveling!

I suppose I am warming up for the Roaring Twenties with my exciting choice of nail polish:

GLITTER!

The patio of my condo. Not a beach in New Zealand.

The last time I had Ruby Slipper sparkle toes was when I was in New Zealand. This weekend, I dug into Claire-Adele's old nail polish collection. I've never had the guts to wear glitter on my finger nails until social distancing became a thing. I never would have worn silver glitter -- the peer pressure to look normal would have been to great. Thanks to social distancing, I have no peers and therefore no peer pressure making me conform.

Speaking of New Zealand, the country was on the front page of the New York Times for flattening the curve into oblivion. Go Kiwis! Nevermind the country has three million people in a place the size of California. They were built for social distancing! But still, congrats New Zealand! (I missed this story -- Jacinda Ardern said that the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy were essential workers. She is awesome! I want to be her when I grow up. Except I am older than her, but whatever.)

Speaking of curve flattening, let's give a special shout out to our own local "Hero-Geniuses" here in Seattle: Dow Constantine, Dr. Francis Riedo, Dr. Jeff Duchin and Kathy Lofy. Like the New York Times, the New Yorker had an article about how Seattle is doing a fine job at social distancing and flattening the Corona curve. The article talks the healthcare professionals who were alumni of the EIS, or the Epidemic Intelligence Service, and who persuaded King County Executive Dow Constantine how to manage the COVID crisis. First, Constantine let the health officials dictate what to say. They recommended social distancing, and Constantine thought "How can I make this not seem so bad?" The approach was planned to be gradual--in other words, baby steps. Constantine asked Microsoft executives to have their work force stay home, and they did. Amazon followed. Instead of public health officials screaming "The sky is falling!" the government asked Microsoft and Amazon to do it, and it worked! (In fairness to Microsoft and Amazon, they likely did not want their massive work forces to fall ill.) After two tech giants closed, schools followed. Then the government closed restaurants and put in the stay-at-home order. By time the stay-at-home order came out, people were already staying home. The goal wasn't to declare an edict--the goal was to change behavior.

It worked.

Bulls, Boats and Birthdays

The COVID thing is wearing me down. The best things I did this weekend were get some sun, paint my office and watch an ESPN documentary The Last Dance about the last season of Phil Jackson coaching Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls. Having lived in Chicago while the Bulls reigned, I am loving it. ESPN was going to show this in June during the NBA playoffs, but since there aren't any sports right now, they wisely decided to move it up. The New York Times Arts section reviewed the documentary.

The best lines in the article:

• "ESPN’s new 10-part documentary doesn’t ask Big Questions. But it does go big on a team whose personalities and feats warrant just this sort of excess."
• "You could call these 10 hours a walk down memory lane. But that’d be like calling Mardi Gras a parade."

This documentary is the closest thing I am going to get to Mardi Gras while staying at home. Maybe next I'll dig up the Beatles Anthology.

I read an article on social media how the Corona virus is impacting people: "We are all in the same storm but in different boats."

Brilliant. I love it.

We all are in different boats. I talked to my hairdresser this weekend, who isn't working. He and his boyfriend are doing okay considering they both work retail. They have savings to rely on but they were hoping to use that money for a downpayment on a house, not to live off of. I was greatly relieved to hear he was doing okay, especially since his boat is different than mine. My conversation with him made me think how we each are uniquely impacted.

What am I doing in my boat? Painting it. I did the bedroom a few weeks ago and this weekend I painted my office. I have mixed feelings on this color. It looks very different in different light.

Today is the Boy's birthday. He is seventeen and in Montana. Last year, I took him and three friends skiing to Stevens Pass. It was the last day of the Steven Pass ski season, so the place was a little crazy.

How am I feeling about this? I miss him, of course, but I am still glad he is there and not a home. If he were at home, who knows what kind of condition he would be in? After staying in bed for six months, it wasn't like he was going to pick himself up and get to school or get a job on his own.

But let's pretend he wasn't depressed and he were home instead. I'd probably make him breakfast and a cake. In a non-Covid world, we'd go out to dinner--his choice.

Later this week is my birthday. Last year, I had a party with a dozen or two friends--catered and everything--at the condo. Neither of my children attended, and Jack was MIA when it came to planning the party even though he said he was going to make all of the arrangements. What my family didn't give me I gave to myself. At that point, who needs a family?

At the party, I gave a speech telling each of my friends what I most appreciated about them. Gratitude is an amazing gift we give ourselves. The week I spent thinking about all of the nice things I was going to say about my friends was the brightest week in my life. I felt blissful.

This year, Claire-Adele is coming to town for my birthday, at Jack's recommendation. Clearly, I am not going to have a party, at least not while social distancing is in effect. I am, however, looking forward to seeing Claire-Adele. Unlike other college students, she was not kicked out of her housing in March so she decided to stay on campus. While I have very mixed feelings about her flying this week, I feel it is probably safer her to fly now on an empty plane than it would have been to fly home a month ago with thousands of other college students.

So much has happened since last year. I had thought 2019 was a fresh slice of hell, but 2020 isn't starting out with a lot of promise. I am not sure what to wish for. Perhaps my wish is that I will be a little bit kinder and gentler with myself this year. I hope the Boy can be gentler with himself, too.

Introverted Extrovert, Mars and Boredom

I went most of the week without seeing another person except for baristas. Baristas are people, of course, but I stand six to ten feet away in an empty coffee shop and chat for as long as it takes them to make my decaf mocha.

I miss people.

When I was in college, I took the Myers-Briggs test and I landed in the middle equally between being an introvert and an extrovert. I am either an introverted extrovert or an extroverted introvert. I mentioned this in a meeting last night and I one of the woman in the group laughed in recognition. I am content doing solitary activities like reading, writing my blog, painting my office, quilting, biking, hiking, etc. I enjoy my own company, to a point, and then I need to be around people before I start going batshit* crazy.

I was talking to the Boy the other day. His life in boarding school in Montana has been minimally impacted. As his school is a residential treatment center, it is considered an essential service, like a nursing home. The only change in the school's routine has been washing hands more often and weekend passes. Instead of going into town, the kids are allowed to go fly fishing.

Fly fishing. In Montana. Poor baby.

(See: The River Runs Though It by Norman Maclean which takes place in Montana. First line: "In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing.")

The Boy said he is sorry he is missing the stay-at-home order, practiced by most countries in the world except North Dakota. (Montana has some of the most rigorous social distancing rules.) Twenty years from now when people talk about the pandemic, the Boy will have to tell people he was in boarding school and nothing was really different.

"I'd be good at the stay-at-home order," he said.

Yeah.

The Boy was great at social distancing, which is how he ended up in boarding school. It isn't natural or normal to spend six months laying in bed looking at a smart phone and watching Netflix, and then sneaking out in the middle of the night to ride a bike or skateboard all over town. I had my son committed to a mental health facility for the very thing everyone in the world is doing now. Ironically, he's out of the house and the rest of the world is locked inside.

Perhaps the Boy would be an ideal candidate to go on a mission to Mars, along with my friend Anderson, who also suffers from anxiety and depression. Both are wicked smart and could figure out all of the technical challenges of running a spaceship, yet at the same time would be well suited to sit and stream Breaking Bad six times in a row. The art of television and film would feed them as they blasted through space. The Boy might also need a virtual ski machine, which would be cool. Anderson could play virtual cricket.

Which brings me to boredom. Boredom--its a good thing if played right. The most legendary act of boredom was J.K. Rowling's train ride which led her to create Harry Potter. How many insights can we find when we have nothing to do?

* Bat bites are one of the theories of how COVID-19 started, right? Appropriate, then, that I am going batshit crazy.