Dear Diary,

This is Hazel.

She’s the one in the middle, bookended by my dogs, Zoey and Nyx.

I found Hazel on my porch today, just sitting like a good girl, patiently waiting to be let in so she could play with her friends.

Hazel, of course, wasn’t supposed to come over.

Hazel was supposed to stay home.

Hazel was self-isolating with her family, nine houses away from mine.

But Hazel snapped today.

Hazel lost it.

Hazel was all NOPE! NO MORE QUARANTINE FOR ME, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. IF ANYONE NEEDS ME, I’LL BE AT THE WOOLSEYS. OVER AND OUT.

Then Hazel used a tiny rock hammer and spent 19 years digging a hole from her cell to the Outside, which she cleverly hid behind a poster of Raquel Welch, and no one knew she was gone until roll call the next day. 

Except minus the escape scene from Shawshank Redemption. The rest is pretty accurate, though.

And I think a lot of us feel like Hazel right now. 

Like we’re willing to dig under a fence and run down the street in the rain and sit on a friend’s porch ‘til she lets us in for treats and playtime.

For now, though,  since that’s not possible, we’ll just have to live vicariously through Hazel. 

She broke free for ALL OF US.

What a good girl.

With love,

 

 

 

P.S. Other than the Hazel Event — a VISITOR! Inside my HOUSE! — I made a new chore chart today. 

‘Cause that’s what passes for excitement around here these days. Dog visits and chore charts. 

P.P.S. The chicken I thawed for dinner tonight didn’t thaw so we’re having goldfish crackers and ice cream, and now I’m wondering why I tried to thaw chicken in the first place since the dinner I’m having is equally delicious and a lot less work.

P.P.P.S. I also don’t really want to dig my way out of my house yet. I like my new schedule. I just want us to collectively figure out a way to break out of the pandemic. Can we do that, please? Who has a rock hammer?