Scribblings

Who knows what the hell day it is

It is day who cares of self isolating in the hope of not dying before casting my vote in November. Things are starting to fall apart more rapidly than I thought possible.

I have to remind myself to shower… well, actually, I know it’s time when the dogs won’t sleep with me.

I feel as though I’ve accomplished something if I actually get out of my bathrobe at some point during the day other than to go back to bed.

I feel as though I’ve accomplished even more if I get dressed and then don’t get back in my bathrobe until at least 5. I am losing this battle.

I have never washed the sheets on my bed so many times in such a short period of time. Turns out, if your dog scratched his paws on the sheet and you wash it too often, it falls apart.

My parrots, who usually love to be with me, are now eyeing me suspiciously whenever I enter their room because I have perhaps been spending too much time with them. The three of them have formed their own little social group and I am only welcomed to join on a limited basis. Like when I have pistachio nuts for them.

It’s 29 degrees out and I am seriously considering putting a chair on the porch and sitting outside in my coat and gloves.

I have cooked more in a week than I did all of last year combined. There is little left for me to mess with. I have found a world of recipes that do NOT work when I use my own creative substitutes for ingredients. I’ve always thought of ingredients listed in recipes as more of a suggestion than anything else.

Yeah, I really thought I’d get past the first week before I started losing it. I’ll tell you more later. I just saw where the sheet on my bed doesn’t completely square the way it should. Can’t have that.