Monday, July 10, 2023

A frequent visitor believes that the New York Times is worthless and filled with lies. The visitor asks why I faithfully read each issue. The paper is once again smashed with tire marks in the driveway.

My thoughtful daughter brought me Udon noodles for dinner. The former teenager and I had a quiet evening reading our books, instead of looking for a good TV show to watch.

My hands continue to swell and ache.  I am still taking two naps a day. I don’t want this to be the new normal.

I start reading Samantha Irby’s book of essays, QUIETLY HOSTILE.  Her essay about the beginning of the epidemic lock down is right on.