Today’s response to MURI’S 2020 CHALLENGE FOR NATIONAL POETRY MONTH. Like the 2019 challenge, this consists of 13 prompts, one for each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in April. They can be completed in any order. If you are interested in participating, click on the above link for the prompts and posting guidelines.
Prompt #12 is “Write 3 haiku.”
I have two journals. One allots five lines a day, just enough space to jot down the important and unique. Gas 1.59 today! Cardinal got trapped in squirrel feeder. First daffodil. Eyeglasses arrived by mail. M-I-L sent Thanksgiving card for Easter — LOL. You know, that sort of thing. The other is a black and white composition book for dissecting my feelings. That’s my “Angst Journal,” unlimited real estate for longhand bitching. There are stacks of them in a carton in the attic. I may bequeath them to my sister when I die so she can marvel at how I managed to maintain such a sunny disposition when my whole world was falling apart: the furnace repair that took seven service calls, the dental visit where Dr. Dingbat drilled my tongue, the painful backlash of having reported a boss to her superiors—it’s all in there.
Haiku is the pocket journal… full of interesting tidbits, small wonders, and existential questions that lead the writer down a familiar road only to take her somewhere she did not expect.
THE COVID LIFE
Dug out winter gloves
Spent morning cleaning freezer
Found bacon—woo hoo!
BLT for lunch
Spinach in lieu of lettuce
Tasteless tomato
Took long, hot shower
Drank coffee, got on WordPress
Umm, what day is it?
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JUST JOAN 42 
Maybe we’re turning into the mindless vegetables the authorities want us to become. Perhaps soon will be quarantined into tiny little pods, with wires attached to our skulls, feeding us fantasies and giving us the illusion that we’re living a normal life.
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My brain is in danger of turning to mush. We don’t have pods and wires yet, but we have drugs for depression, anxiety, OCD, ADHD, etc, that do a pretty good job of creating the illusion of normalcy. My pocket journal helps me keep track of the day and date. Those notes have saved me from long, awkward pauses during phone calls when I can’t think of anything else to talk about. Self-isolation is all about making do and squeezing as much joy as you can from the little things. 🙂
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I can relate! I tried to find pie crusts in the freezer and found a lone package of venison chops! Guess we will be grilling this next week!!
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Venison chops? Sounds yummy! You never know what’s hiding in the depths of the freezer. The bacon was good but my slapdash BLT left a lot to be desired. I went fishing for a pie crust, too, for Easter. Poor thing had been bumped around and broken, but I let it thaw and kind of pressed it back together. It worked fine and the pecan pie was delish. 🙂
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I can go woo hoo for bacon too. And I am also having trouble figuring out what day of the week it is. But somehow, I kind of like the feeling.
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I’m OK with the disorientation, but it rankles me sometimes. I made macaroni and cheese for dinner one Thursday during Lent, so positive was I that it was Friday. I go out to check the mail on Sunday and wonder why there isn’t any. That sort of thing. The bacon was delish, the only good part of the BLT. 🙂
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My 93-year-old grandmother just told me she’s afraid she’s going to go senile from sitting in the house all day, every day. She’s been socially isolating since 3/13/20.
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Older folks seem as bothered as young folks (or maybe more) by the lockdown. I can’t imagine how it must be to have to abandon your social networks and not see your family or hug your grandkids. Retirees I knew as a nurse lived to golf, play BINGO, go to brunch with friends, love on their grands, etc. I read an article recently about a COVID cluster in Colorado that was traced back to a member of a bridge club who continued to play and spread it to dozens of other members. We’re all antsy, but we have to sit tight. If I’m still alive and lucid at 93, I’ll be dancing a jig. 🙂
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