Lockdown: 52 pickup

Hello. These are the first words I’m writing as a fifty-two-year-old. I’m an hour in, and it feels okay so far.

I didn’t get back to bed until about seven Monday morning and had the alarm set for nine. Darth Vader told me when I awoke that I had about two hours of sleep but it felt like zero hours.

I forgot to mention when I got up at 3:30 that I finished off what remained of the meatloaf plate, and chased it with an azuki-bean-filled malasada from Liliha Bakery. So that was a ridiculously early (and carby) breakfast.

Pretty much got right to work, returning emails first, then looking at my meeting schedule for the week. I wrote some social media content for a couple of stories I posted last week, then posted another story and wrote social media copy for that too. It doesn’t sound like much, but there are a lot of ways to mess up, especially with the social media stuff, so I work slowly and deliberately, and I triple-check everything. It’s not the funnest part of my work, I have to say, yet I find it satisfying.

And no matter how tedious or agonizing it gets, it’s certainly easier than actually writing.

On my lunch break, which was earlier than usual because of the super-early breakfast, I threw a steak in the grill pan and ate it with some leftover quinoa and some blanched green beans. It was quite delicious. No photo.

Watched the news after work, read a few blogs, played stupid phone games, and took a one-hour nap that took another half an hour to wake up from. After a few chores and several podcasts, I did some decluttering, which I’ve neglected these past two months. Bagged up a bunch of cans and bottles for recycling, then flattened some Amazon boxes and got most of it out of the house. Made a big difference, at least spiritually. It felt good to get stuff done. Oh, I also found a few stray limbs of the Monster, which I took immediate care of. I told you they would pop up here and there as I continued to clean up my living space.

I’m having a late dinner as I write this. Instant ramen with bean sprouts, bok choy, an egg, and rice vinegar. Yum.

Monday was Kristie’s birthday, so I texted her my birthday wishes. We haven’t texted since her birthday last year, which makes me a little sad. Marriage and kids ruin guy-girl friendships. We spent quite a while talking about life during COVID time, and I was pleased to see that despite her hazardous job (she teaches public elementary school), she’s being super super cautious, as I’ve been.

I still have a little thing for her. I kind of hoped I wouldn’t by now, but it’s there. I can’t let go of anyone or anything, apparently. Although I guess it’s been in hibernation these past 366 days, so there’s the solution. Or a solution.

Yeah, her birthday is the day before mine, four years later. R’s birthday is the day after mine, one year later. My work friend Ali’s is the same day, but nearly twenty years later.

Crush Girl texted to ask if I have any plans for Tuesday. I said I’m taking it off from work but beyond that I haven’t firmed anything up yet. It will begin with sleeping in, though. We chatted a little about her car and about stuff she’s reading.

I texted Jennifer to thank her for the birthday card. Texted Ali to wish her a happy birthday.

I need to write about Dan Le Batard but I’ll save it for another night. Monday was his last day at ESPN, after two decades of affiliation and employment, and the sentiment from a lot of ESPN people I admire was heartfelt and kind of lovely. His podcast will continue independently for now, and he’s bringing all his production crew with him, paying them himself. I don’t know how this is going to work.

Leave a comment if you need someone to connect with. The world’s not getting safer, at least not for a while. We’ve got a long way to go, so don’t go it alone.

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