Today in March, 2022

Almost no one seems to be paying any attention to the pandemic right now, which must be very frustrating for the people whose job it is to save people from it.

Around the first of the year, I dreamed I made a neatly striped painting, and I finished it January 18. When I went to varnish it, I used the wrong kind, and watched as some of the ink lettering dissolved. It felt like I had done the violence to my own work. I removed all of the ink (a wildly, intensely, inkily messy process), repainted many of the stripes, and let it sit until I was less upset about it. Then, I gave it a fat grackle, and got happy about it again. With the bird, it is not the painting from the dream; but, is anything working out as planned for anyone anymore?

And then the total number of global Covid deaths passed six million, and did anyone even shrug?

I am finding myself so conspicuously the only person with a mask on in public places I feel pressured to remove it. I have been asked why I (still) wear one when I don’t have to. I have responded with a polite, upbeat, serious answer. It is astonishing what near strangers will ask in the time of covid.

Another milestone I passed this month is 500 of these works.

Yesterday was exhausting; I pack my Wednesdays so that enduring the worst day of the week is a mild frenzy of (mostly) dog activities. The reward is Thursday: the best day of every week. Thursday has good posture. Thursday always sings on key. Thursday knows all the words. Thursday can spare an extra dog-doo bag. Thursday remembered to take out the trash and paid the electric bill on time. Thursday waves at the guy who brings the mail. Thursday heard it might rain but went for a walk anyway. Thursday might get wet, but Thursday doesn’t care, because Thursday always wears a raincoat.

Soon, it will be time to start cutting the grass again.

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