I receive daily email updates from my dude's mother telling me she's doing okay, which are themselves an indicator that she is not doing okay. I respond in a timely manner with reassuring exes and ohs, which is all I can do.
Last Friday I broke my dry COVID-19 with a bottle of red wine and a video conference call with friends from Boston, Seattle, New York, Portland, and Australia. It was lovely to see their faces and hear their voices. (Last Saturday I had a hangover.)
Dude's brother accidentally cut off the tip of his middle finger while working in his garage workshop. (He has COPD.) A friend's wife tripped over their cat and sprained her ankle. (She has diabetes and her husband recently finished cancer treatment.)
Another friend's kid hit a homerun through their glass patio doors on the day that hardware stores were deemed non-essential services.
I had a partially-used tube of pink hair dye leftover from a number of years ago, so I coloured my hair, even though there is no one but the internet to see it.
I zoomed with my girlfriends instead of meeting for lunch, as was our custom. We exchanged stories about our new routines and strategies to keep depression at bay. (Wearing pants is a good start.) Only one of us had washed her hair that day and no one was wearing makeup. Everyone looked beautiful anyway.
I baked chocolate chip cookies, even though I prefer cooking to baking. Dude astutely pointed out that baking is a way of taking control of something when so much is out of our control, which might explain the shortage of flour and sugar at the grocery stores right now. Careful adherence to directions (two level cups of flour, a teaspoon of baking soda, a 375 degree oven) leads to a positive result (warm chocolate chip cookies). There is a lesson here: careful adherence to directions leads to a positive result. (Take note, spring breakers.)
In lieu of my traditional drinking and dancing on Sunday, I poured myself a gin and tonic, curled up on the couch with the laptop and a blanket, and watched a DJ friend do a livestream of 80s songs while chatting online with my girl gang and the other bar regulars. Even this little bit of interaction and (sort of) normalcy was infinitely rewarding.
I got my clean hands dirty pulling weeds in the backyard (another act of control).
Last night I dreamt that I had broken my thumbnail down to the quick and the broken nail was still attached, torn and ragged and painful, but hanging in there. We are all broken thumbnails right now.