DAY TWO OF WHO KNOWS HOW MANY?

So. Got up today at 6:30. I suppose I should add "in the morning", or "am", so that it's clear. I could totally see sleeping until 6:30pm. Why not? No work to do. Nation shutting down, bit by bit. End of the world and all that. But that just doesn't feel right. I like getting up like I normally do.

First thing I do, pretty much every day, is go downstairs and make coffee. I do the French press thing. So I get up, microwave a cup of coffee left over from the day before. (note, if you want to do this, always leave a cup for yourself to use the next day while waiting for water to boil) So I grind the beans, put the kettle on, and either read or write. Of late, I've read the NY Times live coverage of the virus. But that doesn't really wake my soul right. So that can wait.

And here I am, in front of the computer, typing out whatever pops into my head.
This is kind of like what I did after 9/11, when I lived in NYC. At the time of the attacks, my girlfriend had just been diagnosed with breast cancer two months before, and we had no insurance. So I took a second job for JP Morgan, working on their trading floor on the support staff for emerging markets. I would have to be at work by 7:30, and spent the first hour in front of a computer, usually doing nothing but there in case a call came in. After a full day, I'd either head home, or head to my restaurant job for a dinner shift. My mind was mush, and I was tired, and stopped dreaming at night. I'd just lay down, and when I slept, it was pure oblivion. Life was about 60 hours a week of work, plus whatever else got thrown at me. By the time of the attacks, the idea of the world changing and nothing being the same was already reality. So, I'd get to work after an hour on the subway from Brooklyn, and stare at the screen. And I began sending myself emails, letting my brain go off. No editing, no filter. Just me.

That's sort of what this is. I think.

So.

Walked the dog last night. Took one of our usual routes. Saw a few folks, but kept a safe distance, which annoyed Padfoot to no end. He wants to smell those other dogs.

Called my buddy Jack out in Jersey City. He needs to go see his dad in Oregon, who recently had a minor heart attack. I often call Jack. We go way back. I might do a whole entry on that. Maybe do entries on various friends and my history with them. That might be cool. What do you think, people out in the ether?

We talked about the usual stuff. And about how this will effect movies and plays and books. The things we like. What kind of film will be popular after this? What won't be so cool anymore? I look at all the projects I have- currently, a limited series, two screenplays, a musical- and wonder if they are still relevant.

Got home, worked on a play challenge- the Quarantine Bake Off. Might finish it. First stab, I have a group of writers who have broken into Coors field to BBQ and read scripts. Kind of fun. And fun is important, isn't it? Fuck yes it it.

That's the thing we have to keep doing. Live.

When my mom got sick, I would often get high and plead with the Moon to somehow change things, to make it not be so. The Moon did not comply. But one night, begging yet again for her to be ok, I had a bit of an epiphany. The only thing we can do to combat death is to live.

So let us live. Let us sing and dance and tell bad jokes and walk our dogs and make coffee for each other.

Let us live.