This week turned out to be reasonably productive. I've settled into a groove of three days of getting things checked off my list, then a day off. The house is already looking much better - I even rearranged the furniture in the living room. And I won't deny that it was nice to settle down and light a scented candle last night in a clean, uncluttered living room.
What's hard to articulate, though, is that while it was nice, and I enjoyed it, it didn't actually help anything. And I realize that probably doesn't make sense to anyone who hasn't been here, but... I suppose this is that new normal the experts talk about it: you start being able to enjoy things, but the sadness doesn't go anywhere. So, yeah - I can enjoy things, but I'm still absolutely miserable. Sigh...
Preparations for the trip are coming along; my compulsive list-making is serving me well. I find that I'm really looking forward to this, which makes sense: it feels like my last-ditch effort to find some sliver of hope for happiness in the future.
Overall, the week went well. But the one thing that went badly, went really badly, given the current state of public health: on Wednesday afternoon, my internet connectivity started going in and out. Rebooting the router didn't help. A call to AT&T later, I had a technician scheduled to come out the next day to replace the router and wiring. My first thought was, "Great: six months of total isolation, and I'm gonna get taken out by an asymptomatic cable guy."
Y'all, this man was in my house for nearly an hour. Yes, he wore a mask, and I wore a mask. Yes, we stayed six feet apart for the most part, but I know there were a couple of moments when we were closer than that. All the windows were open, and the fan was on High. After he left, I sprayed everything he'd touched with Lysol - and sprayed the ever-loving FUCK out of the air, too. Then I went and sat outside for half an hour. We took as many precautions as possible, but let's face it: this man is in and out of houses all day long, so I have to assume that he's been exposed, which means I now have to assume that I've been exposed.
And all of THAT means I'm on total quarantine for the next 14 days. And I was supposed to go watch the Vols season opener tomorrow at my friends Mike and Kay's house - the first socializing since March. But I'm not going to do it now; I can't risk it. If I was exposed and I'm carrying it and infect someone else, I'd never forgive myself. THANKS, Covid.
I finally got around to tuning my new Autoharp this afternoon. After several moments of confusion trying to figure out which frickin' octave I'm supposed to start tuning from (this thing has 36 strings, people), I finally got that solved. So, I tuned it... and by the time I was finished tuning the last string, the first one was out of tune again. 😐 Twice more, I tried. And then I called a friend who plays, and asked if this is normal, or if I managed to get a defective instrument. Evidently, this is normal until the strings settle. 😶😶😶 I wanna play with my new toy! (Sorry; channeled my inner Veruka Salt there for a moment.)
There's really nothing else of note to mention; it was kind of a... normal-ish week. I wish it felt like progress, but I guess I'll take it.
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