Wild Writing 12/100

Even in a pandemic

there’s fog in the valley and

snow on the mountains

and rain coming down in torrential sheets

There’s stop lights

red, yellow, green

There’s a cluster of cars in the grocery store parking lot

And heated seats in the Subaru

And her throwing a tantrum 

about getting into her car seat,

even in a pandemic

We still have mornings where everything feels rushed

And others where there’s such a sweet sense of 

pajama luxury

and banana pancakes

and everyone getting enough sleep the night before

Even in a pandemic,

I’m still a writer, maybe even more so

I am definitely still a reader and have

three books going to prove it

Even in a pandemic,

The toilet needs cleaning and 

the dog needs walking and 

the laundry needs folding

And can we can talk about the endless shit pile of dirty dishes

that bloom like mold on old gym clothes?

One moment you’ve shined the sink and disinfected the counter tops

And the next you’re soaping and sponging a Gilmore Girl’s episode worth of pots and pans

Did we eat less, cook less, before this?

I know we baked less, but that’s okay

because now we know how to make: 

crusty french bread

chocolate chip cookies

cinnamon coffee cake

lemon tea cake

and pizza with homemade sauce and handmade dough

(TBH, we’ll probably buy a pizza stone because of all of this)

Even in a pandemic we are innately ourselves 

and whatever things we did before 

are now prominently in our view,

or else, 

cancelled

(I am creating a timed piece of wild writing every day for 100 days for this year’s 100 Day Project.)