Outside everyday now,
dodging fines for waving.

We count the days by the dishwasher load,
by the craft, by the amount of times I sweep the kitchen.
We use hobbies to survive,
Making beer becomes a family event,
Writing something becomes an afternoon.
‘Baking’ is just a whole day in the calendar now.
Days measured by events rather than their numbers.
We bake cookies, we eat the cookies.

Adding: “Don’t get day-drunk” to the todo list,
Then pushing it back a day.

It’s harder to tell with the kids,
to see what’s happening in their heads.
How the wheels are turning,
and if this foolishness is jamming the gears at all.
They climb the trees, and start clubs
(I joined the ‘trik club’ which had a sign-up sheet,
and had me watch a kid swing on a branch for 10 minutes.)

Everybody dreams all the time.
As if our minds are searching for a parking space that never opens up.
As if our minds can’t rest until we’re free to go to the beach.
I don’t want to go to the beach, I hate the fucking beach.
I want to be able to say no to going to the beach.
This is the normal we seek.

Self-Isolation – Day 31: Youtube videos about old Nintendo games.

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