By Dinty W. Moore
Day 56 and I hate my hair, my face, my hands, my hands touching my face, my hands touching my hair, wearing a mask, my neighbors who don’t wear masks, my neighbors who wear masks incorrectly, my neighbors who wear masks smugly, like some fucking statement of purity, or wokeness, myself for thinking that very thought, myself for knowing the word wokeness, smug people generally, the lady who sews 25 masks a day and posts pictures to Facebook, every fucking day, my neighbor who has a hot tub, my neighbor who has a greenhouse, my neighbor who probably hates me because I have a garden, yeast, the lack of yeast, people talking about yeast, the word yeast, sourdough starter, toilet paper, Netflix, people who hoard toilet paper, myself for buying too much toilet paper, my neighbor who walks his dog every 30 fucking minutes, and he’s thinner than me, by a factor of roughly 2,000, if that is even mathematically possible, math, math professors, math problems, problems, droplets, airborne droplets, how hard it is to get beer, the Kroger employee who thinks social distancing is pushing up within two inches of my face to put my birth date into the cash register so I can buy my beer, cash registers, self-checkout lines, grocery shopping, being afraid of grocery shopping, being afraid to read newspaper articles describing the symptoms, being afraid to read newspaper articles about what the world might look like two months from now, two years from now, next Tuesday, listening to idiot-face you-know-who blather on as if he had a freaking clue, as if he were a fucking scientist, very stable geniuses, Clue, Scrabble, Animal Crossing, my friends who manage to play online games using three or four devices simultaneously so they can move their pieces, still see one another, chat on the side, and simultaneously schedule online grocery delivery orders, online grocery delivery, social distancing, social distancing protesters, Nazis, those who are ignorant, those who are ignorant by choice, my elected representatives, Kellyanne Conway, insipid commercials from automobile manufacturer’s claiming they are “there for me,” insipid commercials generally, insincerity, television generally, my sofa, my bed, my life, washing my mail, washing my hands, washing my food, too much food, not enough food, pictures of other people’s food, people who lecture other people, people who go on and on about how much they hate the pandemic, myself for going on and on about how much I hate the pandemic, myself two months from now, myself two years from now, myself next Tuesday, myself, being afraid, being afraid to breathe.
Dinty W. Moore’s entire life is on hold.