So, I am still in quarantine. I have passed all of my tests (Covid-free!) and am just waiting for my fourteen days to be over. I have three left. Tracey and Harper are out tomorrow, lucky ducks.

It’s odd to think that I have been in one house for two weeks straight. Haven’t left the indoors for anything other than to take out the recycling. It affects your brain in weird ways. This morning, Tracey told me about something she said yesterday and I had zero memory of her telling it to me. Zero. Not a bit. She said we actually had a conversation, but I’d be hard-pressed to tell you what it was about. Normally, I would think this was an early sign of dementia, but the days are just blending into one another in such a way that I even have trouble articulating what it is that I did during the day in my journal, so I know that this is quarantine-brain rearing its ugly head.

And now, I have a weird anxiety about going out. What will it be like? What is this neighborhood like? Does everyone want to kill me? Or are they simply going to rob me? How many people will I look at skew-ways as they walk past me, as I fear that they will look to rob me, or even worse, cough on me? Excuse me while I retreat to the closet and never come out!