NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____
The title of this post could be referring to the amount of (Lola) dog hair I find in, on, around, beside, below, and above almost every piece of furniture, in every room, and in every orifice in the house (don’t ask). But it’s not.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____
I debated for two days on whether to do a Pandemic Ride or not. At first, I was like, “Nah, what if I crash or something and piss the hospital people off?” Then I was just lazy, and finally, on Thursday, I was like, “Fuck it. If my slow ass crashes so bad on a dirt road ride that I need medical attention, it was probably due to something that would kill me, like a 10-ton tractor.” So I rode.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____
Tuesday was not one of my better days. Since the start of this whole mess we, the people of the earth find ourselves in, I have been doing what I do and rolling with the pandemic punches. However, that was not the case on Tuesday.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____
There will be glue-sniffing until further notice.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____
Another day, another chance to be amazing!
JEEEZZZZUSS-8-BRICE’S HOT MOM IN A NIGHTIE!!! I can’t believe I just typed that! Oh well, at least I didn’t type “LIVE. LAUGH. LOVE.”
Wait, what? FUCK!!!
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____
I am a creature of habit and routine. Many of my days are spent doing the same things as the day before, at the same general times, for the same general reasons. Some days vary slightly due to Premier League match times, school cancellations, appointments, or a dreaded trip away from home because plans were made for me.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
My family and I are not ill. Yet.
And we’re not “officially” quarantined for any real reason other than not wanting to come into contact with any more potentially sick people than we have to. I can leave the house if I want to. And if you tell me I can’t, then I probably will.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
I have tried and failed numerous times to write this post. In my gut, that sounds like my typical slacktard hyperbole, but it’s true.
Earlier this week, the talking weather heads predicted, nay, PROMISED warmer 40-ish degree temperatures for the mid-Mitten. They lied. I hate them.
Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t 25˚, it was in the low 40s/high 30s but with a good dose of gusting wind direct from the teat of the witch, so it felt like it was 25˚. It was your classic robbing Peter to get six and one-half dozen apples and/or oranges from one pocket to another to pay Paul to stay away from Mary (I think) scenario.
Winter is not over. That much I’m sure of; this is Michigan after all, land of May snow flurries, and June sweater wearing. However, on Sunday, we got a nice reprieve from the grey skies and the sort of snow, sort of ice, frozen ejaculate that a modern-day mid-Michigan winter spews, with some blue skies, sunshine, and improved temps.
