Some Days Are Just Donut Days

Late in 2016 when my friend, Mendy suggested that I start journaling, I thought her suggestion was ludicrous. As much as I love her, I honestly thought she had lost her mind. Even as an adolescent when most of my friends were pouring out their hearts to “Dear Diary,” I couldn’t manage to string together five consecutive days of writing in a journal regardless of how many “mod” diaries I was gifted. (Note: I’m a child of the 70s – hence the word “mod.”) Furthermore, when Mendy made the suggestion to me, I was barely functional, and at one of the lowest periods in my life. Seriously, did she even know me at all?

Turns out that she did. She knew me better than I even knew myself. So, I took her advice. Over the next weeks and months, the writing proved cathartic, even enjoyable. That practice ultimately led to this blog.

Before COVID-19, and shelter in place orders, and social distancing, I would spend most Friday evenings in Dallas writing at one of the restaurants in my neighborhood. However, those evenings at the Living Room Bar at the W Hotel, or Dibs on Victory, or Mesero, or Hero, ended on March 13. Not only did the closing of restaurants impact my writing locations, “working from home” seems to have extended my work hours. While I still manage to get out of the apartment for a walk on most days, it is usually while I’m on a conference call. So, even “down time,” is punctuated by work.

Like most people, I’ve lost track of the days because every day looks the same. Friday evenings and Saturdays look like any other day of the week. Separating from work is getting harder because I feel obligated to respond to calls and emails at all hours. And, I’m starting to feel less creative.

This past weekend was no different than the previous five weekends. Except, that I “unplugged” for three hours on Saturday. No calls, no emails, no big thoughts.

I went for a walk and bought a chai tea latte and a donut, because . . . well, some days are just donut days.

I didn’t turn on the television for the latest suggestions about UV rays and disinfectant injections curing COVID-19, because . . . well, lunacy and I’ve “jumped the shark.” (See previous blog.)

I bought a frozen margarita “to go,” and drank it as I walked the streets of Uptown, because . . . well, Dallas has adopted practices from New Orleans, and why not?

Then, it was back to work.

Stay safe, stay well, stay sane, everyone.