It occurred to me that people pay a lot of money to find the kind of quiet isolation we’re getting now. I paid, twice, to fly to the Banff Centre to sit alone in a cabin in the woods to finish the Jewish Shakespeare book. People pay to go on yoga retreats and not speak for a week. Now we have all that quiet solitude for free! Hooray!
Here’s my daytimer usually, and my daytimer next week. Hoping for line dancing at 11 on Monday. My sole destination.
I don’t have any idea what happened the night before last; my body was electrically charged, as if I’d drunk two cups of coffee before bed, which I most assuredly did not. Anxiety? Perhaps. I was just reading in the NYT about the work of an Australian doctor called Claire Weekes, who specialized in anxiety disorders. She has some interesting techniques. If your body starts to be electrically charged, check her out.
I was up early today and was going to go to the big Loblaws, their early opening for the elderly, to get supplies. But it was pouring. When I told Anna my plan, she shouted at me via text: Do NOT grocery shop. She’s going to do a run to Costco next week and will pick me up stuff. I’d just sent her an article about how we can shop and receive packages as long as we wash our hands a lot.
But when I imagined being in the ER and a doctor looking at my chart and saying, “69 1/2… To the trash heap with the old bag!” I decided to stay in.
People are charging through Netflix series. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; somehow the day vanishes without Netflix, though I do watch a bit of what’s called ‘destination television’. Because I’m old, the kind of old that will get me denied the ventilator. The kind of old, however, that will keep me calm during this pandemic. And now, time to do some exercise with the internet.