A Nice Day For It

My work cut us loose early today over fears of nearby protests causing problems with people's commutes, so I ended up home a little after 1:00 PM. It was a lovely day, so I lay down on the back deck and stared up into the trees while the wind tossed the sunlight around.

A cardinal flitted into a tree, burbling happily about nothing, and I closed my eyes and listened to his song. Then I woke up and the sun had moved across the sky.

Trash Panda TV

I come in to the living room from playing piano, and Katie has The Curious Case of Benjamin Button on the TV in the background while she works on her phone, and I sit and watch it for a while until it's time to get ready for bed. She's fine with turning it off mid-movie, because she's watching it "for free" on Netflix, because, "I don't rent stuff to watch by myself! I can watch garbage and be perfectly content."

"You're like the raccoon of entertainment consumption," I say, kissing her on the forehead as she nods happily.

The Distance

"Do you live in Brooklyn?" my new co-worker asks. She's standing a little too close, but I don't say anything, because maybe I've just gotten used to not being close to people I don't live with, and maybe I've got to unlearn some habits to be out in the world again.

"I live in Staten Island," she answers herself. When I express consternation at the distance she has to commute, she reassures me, "Oh, I have a car."

Eating My Feelings (Making A Mess)

Katie is solicitous of me tonight, because she knows I'm a little nervous about going back to work tomorrow (even though there's nothing to really worry about).

"Did you get enough treats, like did you want ice cream?" she asks kindly.

"I had ice cream, thank you, because that's how I got chocolate on my shirt," I explain.

"Of course you did," she says, laughing.

Effectively Feral

I prep for my coming earlier schedule by going to bed earlier the night before, but I still wake groggy, my legs unsteady beneath me as I struggle to stand. The cat hollers outside the bedroom door, hoping against hope to guide me by the sound of her voice to the kitchen to feed her, since I seem entirely incapable of finding my way there on my own.

After she's fed, I stumble to the bathroom and stand on the scale pondering my dreams. I had dreamed I was the personal assistant to a mutual friend of ours, and she had been dripping with diamonds and rubies that her husband had bought her, and my heart had sank at the thought of trying to be an assistant again when I was so desperately unsuited for the role after being out of an office for over a year and being, at this point, effectively feral.

The Level Of Discourse

"Wait, what song is that?" I ask my roommate.

"It's from Robin Hood," he replies.

"I thought it was a seventies song, and all I could think of was 'ooh-da-lally-ooh-da-lally' so I thought I was wrong...," I say.

"You're bringing the whole apartment down, Scott - get your head in the game!" Katie calls from another room.

Putting My Foot In My Mouth

"When will things come back?" our roommate asks in a plaintive tone as I wash dishes in the kitchen.

Katie cheerfully lists off a number of institutions (like the Met and others) that are working towards reopening, before adding pragmatically, "But, you know, New York will be last, since we have the most people."

"And we had the most people die," I add thoughtlessly.

"Oh, I don't think that's helpful," Katie says.