Lockdown: Have I got something to shoyu

I slept horribly Sunday night, again. I’m beginning to wonder if this is just going to be my life until election day. It’s not that I’m restless in bed with the election on my mind; but I sense its reality all the time.

Sunday, even with all the football I watched, I listened twice each to the podcasts of Sunday’s Meet the Press and This Week.

In less than a week we had the presidential debates, the incumbent’s tax returns coming to light, and the same incumbent’s hospitalization with COVID-19. That’s just too much.

I worked on my monthly report, then edits to an appeal letter, then edits to a donor story, and then a first draft of another donor story. This last one’s a little trickier than I thought, as I interviewed two people, so the flow has to be managed. You can go ABAB or ABBA and they each work fine but you can’t just slap it together.

The Athletics lost their first game against the Astros. They should win this series, but anything can happen in a best-of-five. And in recent years they’ve lost a lot of series they should have won. I’m not worried yet, but it would be nice if my favorite baseball team could keep playing for at least one more series.

COVID-19 delayed the Patriots-Chiefs game to Monday night, which was on broadcast TV, and then there was the originally scheduled Monday Night Football game on cable, so I had the first game on the TV while I wrote, and listened to the second on the radio. Neither game was very memorable.

I thought I would do another three dishes I’ve never made, but my troubled soul wanted comfort food, so after work I made shoyu chcken in the Instant Pot, following a recipe whose ingredients I liked — this one used honey and bourbon, two things you don’t usually see in this dish). I didn’t have bourbon so I used Irish whisky.

The sauce came out great. The chicken could have used another five minutes under pressure, something to keep in mind for next time. I wasn’t very hungry after sampling one thigh right out of the pressure cooker, so it’s too early to tell how the recipe came out. I’ll know Tuesday morning.

This morning, I mean. I’m typing this on my phone while I wait for the sun to come up at Ala Moana.

I just didn’t have it in me to do any decluttering, and wheeled the trash bin to the curb not much more than half full. First week I’ll call a failure in several months. I’m cutting myself a little bit of slack.

Cleanup took longer than usual. I was already tired and moving slowly. The news was disappointing. I did the Tuesday NYT crossword ahead of time, goofed around on my phone, and went to bed a couple of hours later than planned, around eleven.

I got a text from Sylvia, a photo of a dinosaur yelling long, threatening words at some fleeing people. One of the people is saying, “Oh no! It’s a thesaurus!”

Crush Girl and I did normal how-was-your-weekend stuff and we talked about the price of mochiko.

Sharon texted me to ask a question about work.

That’s pretty much it. Oh, breakfast was a Subway sandwich, only my second trip to Subway since the lockdown began. Pre-lockdown, I was going two or three times a week, usually for breakfast after the beach.

The first one now will later be last; oh the times, they are a-changing.

Tuesday I’m going to be tired (I’m writing this Tuesday morning so I know this), but I’m determined to finish that donor story first draft. That’s my only goal for Tuesday, even if it means delaying my trip to the laundry a day.

Time to get into the water. Leave a comment if you need someone to connect with in these dismal days of the virus. I’m here for it.

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