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March 24, 2020: EXHAUSTED
I've been experiencing a fair amount of pandemic panic, and I am too tired to write a blog. I know I said every day, but this will have to do. Last night, I spent the evening roasting vegetables. Everything that could be washed in soap and water was. But the cauliflower? Not a good idea. Anyhow, I did a lot of zucchini and cauliflower and rutabagas.
They look terrible, don't they? The cauliflower all burnt. Rutabagas. What possessed me to buy rutabagas?? Buying rutabagas online. It's different if you buy them in person. You see them, weird orange and purple and you say, "What the hell! Why shouldn't rutabagas be delicious?" But online? Weird. I think I once had a good experience with a rutabaga, but it's time for me to face up to the fact that I will never recapture it.
Then, with all the chopping and tossing and thising and thating, I got into a panic about who had touched the vegetables before me, what was the state of their health, had I washed everything enough -- not the cauliflower for sure. Could the virus survive being roasted? What about the plastic bags the veggies came in? It lives forever on plastic!
I was a mess. Why did I order so many fresh vegetables? Why can't I just eat what's in my freezer?
As you can see, my freezer is well-stocked with BBS -- aka black bean soup. I love making big big pots of soup or beans and freezing them. Isn't that smart of me? I'm so well prepared for a pandemic. I'm a good soup cook too. I'm a little bit famous for it.
I AM SO SICK OF BLACK BEAN SOUP!
And because of that, I risked catching the corona virus from the plastic bag holding the rutabaga and an improperly cleansed cauliflower.
Is my life not worth more than a nicely roasted cauliflower??? I was in a panic, could not finish chopping all the vegetables and went to bed. After scarfing down a lot of what I cooked.
The next morning, I got up feeling perky after performing my morning ablutions and then going back to bed and then dragging myself out of bed and mainlining some caffeine. I put on my Obama socks.
They really did look like Obama until I put them on. It's not like I have fat legs or anything. It's just that these fucking socks look like Obama only when they're in your drawer! What the fuck is the point of Obama socks that don't resemble him when you wear them???
I didn't buy them for myself. I was never that crazy about Obama. He was temperamentally unsuited to be President. He's a lover, not a fighter. No, I bought these socks for my dear friend Rosalia. But when I got to the Post Office, I discovered it cost $35 to mail Obama socks to Morocco. Why didn't I do it, I think now? Rosalia absolutely adores Obama. She would have gotten far more than $35 worth of pleasure out of them. No matter what they looked like on. Why didn't I just bite the bullet and pay the $35??
That made me think about Rosalia and Morocco and the great blog I want to write about my crazy Marrakech shopping trip. But first, I needed to take the pups out for a walk and then I decided to go to Noe Valley Bakery for a treat.
I got a carrot cake muffin AND a chocolate cherry rugulach. Stuffed my face with all this sweetness. I wasn't used to it anymore. It was a big lump in my stomach. What was the health status of the young woman who served me? Of the jar where I put my tip, of the inside doorknob? Yes, I used a kleenex when I went INTO the bakery, but I just grabbed that inner doorknob with my bare hand on the way out! Was the cupcake and the rugulach worth....etc. etc. Pandemic panic. Why the hell is the bakery even open? Muffins are not a necessity! Why did they even let me in? I'm old! Just don't call me elderly. I hate that word.
I came home. I'm too exhausted to write a blog. It's only 9pm now, but I've got to just lie in bed and read.
(Well, I just tried to upload a photo of the book I'm reading, GIRLFRIEND NUMBER ONE, LESBIAN LIFE IN THE 90s, but it's not working. To hell with it.)
My friend Tara sent me the photo below. It's priceless. In fact, it's so priceless probably 10 people have already sent it to you. But I am finished.
No blog today!
Lilith Women's Theater | 547 Douglass St., San Francisco, CA 94114