Tracking number

I didn’t know what else to write about one day last week, so I wrote about packages. I'm keeping a running list of stuff that I ordered online. I cross things off the list as they arrive, but the list doesn’t get shorter because I keep ordering stuff. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I ordered another handbag. Do you understand how ridiculous this is? Do you know how many handbags I already have? No, that’s a real question that I’m hoping you can answer because I lost count. Search this blog for the words “handbag” “tote,” “purse,” and “pocketbook.” You won’t be able to figure out how many handbags I actually have, but you will gain a good understanding of exactly how shameful it is that I should even think about buying another handbag in my life, ever. But there it is, awaiting shipment from some Nordstrom warehouse somewhere. I’ll cross it off the list when it gets here.

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It's May 2020, and handbags are a welcome if momentary and fleeting distraction. It’s hot today and at 3 PM on a hot summer Saturday, I would normally be packing my bag for an hour or two at the pool. I can feel the too-cold early-summer water right now, with the sun sparkling blue surface. Soon, I hope.

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It’s the last day of May 2020, and good riddance. I’m trying to stay off social media, but it’s hard. I don’t want to think about or talk about what’s going on right now, except that I want nothing more than to talk about and think about and read about and immerse myself in everything that’s going on right now. I’m angry for no reason. I’m angry at people with whom I have no reason to be angry. I want to go very far away, except that I don’t want to leave my house. And where can a person go now anyway? The SpaceX crew have the right idea. Just get off the planet for a few weeks, and maybe this will all blow over.

The house is a little messy right now. There’s laundry that I could do. I vacuumed yesterday but there’s nothing to stop me doing it again. Some books could be rearranged. Some clothes could be folded or hung a little bit more neatly. I can control something.

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Now the house is as clean and as neat as it reasonably can be, so the one thing that I can control is firmly controlled.

You know what I can't control? The help desk. No one can. It's Monday now, and I'm on the phone with the help desk. The agent has control of my computer, for what I thought would be a ten-minute software installation. 20 minutes later and I'm still watching files copy, like the embezzlement scene in “Office Space.” He keeps saying "hmm," which worries me a little bit.

The help desk agent just asked me what kind of parakeets I have. I don’t have parakeets; he’s just hearing birds. I’m sitting outside in my backyard because it’s a beautiful day and I needed to get away from the police radio, which is on constantly in my house. The software update just finished and so I guess I have to stop writing and get back to work.

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It’s Wednesday now, June 3. When I was writing on Monday, I didn’t expect anything particularly good to come out of the rest of the day but I must admit that I didn’t predict anything like what actually occurred. I wrote about June 1 separately, right here, but I’m still processing it. Did a U.S. President actually teargas peaceful protesters a block from the White House so that he could walk across the street? I still don’t know exactly how many handbags I have, but I do know the answer to that question and it’s yes.

Anyone who’s been here for more than five minutes knows that it would be difficult to find someone who thinks less of Trump than I do but he descended to new depths on Monday, both in his disgraceful craven cowardice and in his place in my esteem. He’s still higher than Hitler and Stalin, with nowhere to go but down.

November is around the corner. Let’s just hope that the administration doesn’t “reschedule” the election.

Oh and my handbag finally arrived. It’s beautiful. Final count? Too many plus one.