One year into lockdown. I can barely remember “normal” life. What is normal? I read some old entries where I was striving to cut back on buying cleaning supplies to declutter. This past year, I went through them because there is no room in my grocery cart for cleaning supplies. I was reigning in buying exercise equipment. Now, I’m looking for more. I was even trying to whittle down my dried beans stash. I’ve buzzed through them and then some. A lot more some. Two people have chowed through more than a hundred fifty pounds of rice and beans in less than a year. What are work pants? What are pajamas? Denim is now dressing up.

What is time? I’ve usually given a nod to Groundhog Day because it was the start of this blog. Now, every day is Groundhog Day. I’ve usually acknowledged the Lunar New Year. Happy Year of the Ox. Every day is a new start. As Belle crooned, “Everyday like the one before.”

So in short, how am I doing? I don’t know. Does not compute. I’m grateful to be where I am; to have what I have; and to just be. But if I’d had a choice about this, if my parents had asked me, I would rather not be.

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