I am the last woman on earth.
I live alone in my house and every day I follow the schedule that I have arranged for myself.
That’s my game. It’s the best way to get through this.
Yoga, coffee, meditation, breakfast, look out the window, do the laundry, make the bed, take a shower, take a walk, lie on the floor and wait for the dogs to jump on me, eat stuff from the fridge
after gazing into it awhile. Brush my hair.
Add blush. Add mascara despite considering how long it will take to remove. No lipstick.
Yesterday I considered a small glass of red wine with breakfast.
My neighbor’s new dog barks
enough to make napping problematic.
I drink a lot of tea with half and half
and maple syrup which is tastier than
My garage is a café after 6
and dinner is in white cardboard squares
ready for all of us dreamers who believe
next month will bring hope back and
neighbors come two by two
like passengers on Noah’s Ark
run aground and have a hard time
So how do I feel?
I’m glad for the distraction and for the wine and for the anesthesia. I don’t tell anybody about the hopelessness.
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