March 31, 2020

First day the quarantine has gotten me down, the day being too rainy and cold for me to do any gardening. Even finishing off the revision of Jason of the Apes (and being happy with it) didn’t take the edge off. Cooked, not interested in eating what I cooked, just sick of seeing the ingredients in the fridge. Not interested in the lurid biography of Merv Griffin R lent me. Two packages sit unopened on the table.  Planted yesterday, zinnias, snapdragons. Was going to garden today, but the carton arrived on the front porch just as the bitter rain came down. At 7 tonight some of us read the Passion for Palm Sunday, each Zoom-ing from our own houses. One should probably put a shirt on. One observes that the kind of people who love minding other people’s business are now in seventh heaven, being able to admonish about distancing and staying home and what have you with no one–yet– telling them to shut up. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be too bored to look at social media and that irritation will be gone. Trump continues his by-now-beyond-miraculous streak of never doing or saying the right thing. He may be the world’s forever champion.  Irritated by the beautiful music on the radio.  Maud breathes contentedly at my feet. I’m going to do as she does and wander from spot to spot, flopping down every few feet to nap. Watched the neighbor’s cat watching the fish in the pond. Actually refrained from cleaning out the filter, so I’ll have something to do tomorrow. The songs of the birds before dawn is Paradise.