Day 58: Routine
One gets used to anything. My mother would often say that. I'm feeling used to this situation, resigned to it, hopeless for any kind of change. And yet, those feelings allow me to keep going. I finally managed to get my watch to track my walks and consider them exercise. I rejoice at closing the little circles and making sure I do it early.
I have even started to use the breathing app. I breathe, making sure I lower my heart rate. It might be good for me. Vitamin C might be good for me. Eating vegetables and fibre is good for me. Reducing stress is good for me. Getting work done is good for me. Filling my hours with activities is good for me. Talking to my daughter is good for me. Making bread is good for me. Not eating bread is good for me. No carbs. Again. Why do I care? Who gives a shit how much we weight or whether we are healthy? Why do I give a fuck about putting on makeup no one is going to look at? Who gives a damn about textual variation in fifteen-century witnesses of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales? Do I have to put eye-cream, night cream, sunscreen? Should I worry about wrinkles or cancer? Should I worry about finding a job, about whether politicians are doing the right thing, about Trump's latest lie? Should I be concerned about my daughter's anxiety, her stress, her skating? Should I help her chose new music, a new novel, a new shirt? Do I need to get in touch with my hairdresser? Will she be available on the 19th? Will I catch COVID-19 if I get my hair dyed? Do I need another scarf or should I take up another hobby? Should I try to draw nudes? Where do I get the pictures? I cannot draw my kid or they will say it's porn or something. I better draw the cats: they are lazy and stay in the same place for hours.
Did I mention I want to get a tortoise, a sphynx cat, a hedgehog?
Canada cases 72,419
World cases 4,261955
World deaths 291,964
World recoveries 1,403,414