Author’s note: This is from a series based on my journal. Unconventional and idiosyncratic punctuation and formatting are intentional.
This morning I felt out of sorts when I woke up and getting out of bed was kind of a challenge. But staying in bed felt like the same. I just pushed past it and felt better by the time I was getting into my word games and other routines. I went through the day’s emails and other notifications and pruned some of my Notes on Substack. It felt good to tidy the stream. In the news I read about feral pigs, leaf removal, and the value of relationships. One article just led to the other but I am not sure why I started with wild pigs. Getting dressed I committed to the season’s cooler weather by putting on sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt under my quarter-zip. WOUND was the answer for today’s Wordle. Noun or verb?
At the shelter this afternoon I was the only front desk volunteer. Dee and Ella and Antwan were working. Michael was out power-washing the front steps with Palmolive when I arrived. Little green rivulets frothed and trailed down to the curb. Mist dampened and darkened his pants. His shoes squished. He said he hopes to get an apartment some time next month. Where? I asked. West End, he said, where I grew up. That will be nice, I said. Sure will, he said. He flicked the nozzle at a spot by the railing. Under a small pine tree across the street a man in a plaid hoodie dozed facing the sun holding his backpack to his chest.
Ella told me about her trip to Jamaica last week. Spa day, island tour, time by the pool, she said, and liquor everywhere! And marijuana. She laughed. Not for me, she said. Me either, I said. What did your husband do while you were away? I asked. Called my brother a lot, ate fried chicken every day even though he’s not supposed to, she said. Throw them away! she said when I told her about my unraveling kitchen dishtowels. I find their red and white threads everywhere, on steps, floors, carpets, other pieces of clothing, strings from things unraveling their thing-ness. They’re more holes than whole now.
A barber friend of the day manager Robin set up in a nearby office to cut hair. He was busy all afternoon. Dee had two chili dogs and a snack bag of cheddar Ruffles for lunch. She belched as she flipped her plate into the trashcan. Three groups brought sack lunches earlier. Some leftovers filled half a banana box under the counter by the phone. One call I answered was a woman calling for her brother needing clothing vouchers and a needle exchange. Another call was a woman asking about baby diapers. A third call was a woman asking about help paying utility bills. I had to give numbers for other places to all of them. The shelter does not offer any of what they needed.
On my way home at Walgreens I checked out with Bill the cashier. He still looks so tentative and cadaverous. His pants bunch around his waist. His shirt hangs from his shoulders like a slackened sail. The sharp points of his elbows look like they could pop a balloon. It’s been six months since I asked him about losing weight and recommended ice cream. I did not ask him about it this afternoon. One afternoon several years ago I saw him walking in his blue Walgreens polo with a 12-pack of Budweiser a block from the store. He had a bit of a belly then. The cashier John was also working today. Did you find everything you need? Uh-huh, uh-huh, he asked his customer. That will be twelve-fifty-two, please, uh-huh, uh-huh, thank you very much. He has been at the store for 20 years. There’s nothing impaired about that.
This evening at Dairy Del I sat at one of the side tables by the parking lot. It was breezy and clear and almost too cool. For a change I had graham cracker crumbs on my ice cream instead of rainbow sprinkles. They looked beautifully golden in the slanting, setting sun. A group of elementary school-age children walked by on the way to the counter. One boy looked at me reading. Is that the Bible? he asked. No, I laughed. A woman talking to a couple at another table came over and gave me a flyer for a new arts and entertainment venue opening nearby. My son’s business, she said. Thank you, I said, I’ve read about it in the paper. Her eyes were as blue and electric as that on the flyer.
At home I enjoyed being in touch with Laura and Kate. How was Saturday’s excursion? I asked Laura. I survived, she said. She drove a group of seniors from the community center to a meat market somewhere just outside of town. Kate and I exchanged pictures of our kitchen dishtowels. Mine are worse, I said when I sent her a picture of mine. 😅, she responded. I watched the news and collected my thoughts and tried to wrangle them into some writing. I also got several emails from editors passing on writing I have submitted the last few months. I started reading a small collection of essays called Things That Disappear by a German writer named Jenny Erpenbeck. Socks. Trash. Cheese. Manners. Memories. Dishtowels? Lives? Blurbs on the back mention Nobel.
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Thank you, Kathy. I just like to write what I see!
Thank you! Lots more of this to come. Like, 40,000 more words and counting.... Diarism is my jam.