THERE'S A GOAT IN MY SOUP

My apartment mate has been instructed to work from home now, as even her department (part of healthcare in this city) is considered not quite as essential as it was a week ago. This, necessarily, means adaptation.
And I may have to stay out of the teevee room for eight hours a day.
Which is where both of our computers reside.
And the tray of pipes.

Well crap. I had not expected that I'd have to choose what briars to smoke on a daily basis so early in the morning.


It will mean taking more and longer walks. Good, I suppose, because it keeps the circulation going and will prevent my right knee and hip from stiffening up.
It also means that she can answer the junk phone calls; would you care to guess where the telephone is?

More meditation. More catching up on reading. More sunshine. More naps.

And less worry; I do not know where her coworkers have been, and what diseases they are blithely spreading.




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