Dear Diary,

I caught Greg in the living room SORTING THE JUNK DRAWER. The hour after he replaced all the burned out lightbulbs in the house. The day after he repaired the extensive dry rot that’s been present for, oh, ten years-ish around our two back doors.

PLEASE EXPLAIN, Diary.

Do you know what is happening? Because I DO NOT.

I asked him why he was organizing the junk drawer and he said it was because we couldn’t close it without shoving stuff down, we couldn’t find anything in it, and random items were falling out the back.  

???

I mean, yes. Of course. It’s the JUNK DRAWER. That’s what it does. That’s who it is. That’s its heart and soul and the purpose for its existence. That’s how it’s always been, from time immemorial, and how it shall evermore be.

Except now it’s not.

So now I’m faced BOTH with a Global Pandemic AND an Existential Crisis — if a Junk Drawer isn’t junky anymore, WHAT IS IT? Just… a drawer?

I don’t understand the world we’re living in anymore. All my foundations are disrupted. Even the immutable things I thought were UNCHANGING are changing.

Someone hold me. 

With love,

 

 

 

P.S. Pro Tip: If you leave mini marshmallows next to the tub and they dry out into the shriveled white raisin forms of their former plump glory, just take a hot bath. By the end of your two hours hiding from your family, those mallows will have absorbed all that humid air and are reconstituted. Brought back to life. Resurrected. THAT WHICH WAS LOST HAS BEEN FOUND.

P.P.S. Yes, of course I ate them. That makes this Day # “Ate Rehydrated Marshmallows” of Quarantine. You know what they say — waste not, want not. 

P.P.P.S. Our precious walking path fairy left us a new message today.

I came across it as I was thinking about how lovely it must be to be one of people who thinks COVID-19 won’t hit them or their loved ones hard. 

“It won’t happen to me” sounds calming. Anxiety reducing. Like zen on a pogo stick, hopping up and down on repeat in front of my face.  

Of course, the truth is, if I knew for sure everyone I love would be spared, I’d STILL be tripping on the communal grief of Someone Else being visited by the Angel of Death. 

Anxiety + Compassion is such a treat. 

But my point is, because I’m a ray of sunshine, I was right in the middle of ruminating on… well, you know… Death and Despair when this message appeared.  

Hope. 

OK, Fairy Message Mother. 

I’m listening. 

And, more importantly, I’m willing to disrupt my Regularly Scheduled Gloom for the reminder that that’s not productive.

It’s essential right now to prepare. To listen to and follow instructions from knowledgeable sources. To do our part to slow this thing down and give our hospitals a fighting chance. And then hope.

That’s the next right thing.

Our path forward.

Hope.