Every Day I'm Puzzlin'

We stack the most recent jigsaw puzzle on top of the previous one before we start the next one - Katie calls it "incepting" - and the stack is up to at least four by now.

This new one promises to be problematic, though, since it may be missing a piece, and an edge piece at that. The pieces are pretty small, too, and they're all cut from pretty much the same mold, so any given piece fits pretty well in any spot, which can be a challenge for somebody who occasionally reverts to just putting pieces places to see if they fit.

But while Katie works on her business, and our roommate cooks himself dinner, I sit at the table where we've set up, and allow myself the small dopamine thrill of fitting in the correct piece in the correct spot, building a picture that's already made, with no consequences, with low stakes.

Compare and Contrast

I sit out on the back deck, in full sunshine, basking like a lizard and periodically working on projects for the family business. The bright light is reflecting off of my keyboard, making me squint.

Back inside, I feel like I'm in a cave: it's dark, and cozy. While I like it, it only really feels good because I was outside, even for just a little while.

The Days Blend, Part the Second

"Well they had the cushions out on their new deck furniture, but then it rained yesterday, so they took them in," Katie says about the neighbors a few houses down.

"Wasn't it gorgeous yesterday, and it rained the day before that, and today?" I ask.

"But didn't you say later, after we came in, 'I'm so glad we went out when we did?'" she replies. "Or was that this morning?"

Without Nostalgia

The old hard drive is here - "old" is relative, five years maybe? - but finding the adapter, and the cable, is a bit trickier. One's in the closet, the other hiding under a pile of unfiled paperwork.

But once they're both out, the portal to the past is opened, and pieces of plastic and metal, wires and magnetic media, are transformed into memories, old songs, pictures of people I'd forgotten, movies I haven't watched in years, a version of me that only exists in ones and zeros. 

I scroll through, without nostalgia, like an anthropologist looking at a case study of a person who hasn't lived for hundreds of years.

Something Off

We passed him on the way to the grocery store: a guy, standing inside the little fence in front of a brown stone, no mask, dirty clothes, completely still staring up at the construction scaffolding above him.

Katie's been doing this thing where she very loudly remarks on people not wearing masks in public, hoping she might shame them into doing the right thing, and most of them ignore her or furtively slip their masks back on, but this guy didn't even seem to hear her.

So when we were coming back after a good half-an-hour and saw him still standing there, and he had yet to have moved, I remarked uneasily, "What is this guy's deal?"

Katie saw him, said, "Cross the street?" and we continued our walk on the other side of the road.

The Days Blend

"Thanks for a nice day," I say as we come in from sitting on the stoop. There had been even fewer people than usual out after midnight, except for a couple of cars and one slow moving police SUV.

Katie smiles and says, "Thank you for a nice day." Then, more thoughtfully, "What happened today?"

Careless Stomping

While cleaning up in the kitchen, I breakdown the pizza boxes from tonight's meal.

I like crushing them, so I put one down and stomp on it with my bare feet.

The little three legged support in the box that keeps the lid from hitting the pizza pierces the lid and only manages to avoid puncturing my foot because my feet are tough from not wearing shoes for the past month and a half.

When I show Katie the bruise on the bottom of my foot, she says sympathetically, "The tiny tables are the worst!"