I forgot what I was going to say.

My parents have never not ever in their lives had a Thanksgiving that was just them until this year. I don't just mean "in their married lives" (they've been married 55 years) but I mean when they were children, too, even my father's dirt-poor, no-one-had-time-nor-skills-nor-money-for-a-feast family, they always had Thanksgiving guests.

We have always had Thanksgiving guests. 

But not this year.

This is only my second at home alone with my spouse Thanksgiving. And one of only maybe half-a-dozen I haven't been at my parents. We ate very good food. Had a couple great cocktails. Relaxed. Zoomed with my family. Slacked with my best friends. Had a few texts and phone calls with some other folks. 

This year sucks. This world sort of sucks. We're lucky. We love each other. We like each other. We have stable, well-paying jobs we are able to do from the safety of our home--which is safe, warm, nicely appointed and easily affordable on our income. We're healthy. 

I have the best, most trustworthy, kind and giving friends. My beloved sister and her family are within walking distance. We're safe, safe with each other. and even though we have more than that, it's hard to care because of how grateful I am to be safe and safe with each other.

The U.S. is not safe. It is deeply unsafe for so many people. And sometimes even unsafe for people like me. And I am grateful for the things I have and grateful for the people showing me ways to fight to guarantee them to more people.

A friend had to take her roommate to the hospital this morning. They thought he was having a heart attack--it's COVID 19. I last saw her 16-17 days ago. We met outside to exchange some things. We're waiting to hear. To see what we can do for her, if it's even possilble to help. Maybe deliver soup.

The estimate is that 1 in 16 people in Chicago has an active infection. The realtor who just sold my rental property tested positive last week (I last saw her in person in August). She feels like she's recovering.

Our across-the-hallway neighbors have a steady stream of visitors. I have never seen these neighbors wearing or even carrying face masks but I have only ever run into them when I'm sitting in the back yard. 

I am frightened. I am angry. I am sad.

We're in a complete media black out. It's less burying our heads in the sand and more accepting our impotence and protecting our nerves. I'm not working this week and had pulled together a stack of projects in the sewing room, but today I'm watching Monstrom on PBS Passport, sorting socks, playing video games. 

I made breakfast tacos. I have an appointment with a remote notary at 1. Zoom cocktail hour later. We have our late fall several day run of sunny warm weather, so maybe my sister will come sit in the yard for coffee.

All we can do is wait and hope.

I've heard and read a lot of things in the last 14 days about having a safety plan, filling the car with gas, having cash. We've got two pounds of coffee , 12 rolls of toilet paper and some flour.

We'll either be fine or we won't. Given everything of the last few years, I have little confidence any aciton I could have taken would have had any impact.

The fence is now too high to jump and I will just lie here, on the electrified half of the floor, helpless. 

Chicago's s 7-day average positivity rate is up 29% in the past week, now at 5.4%, and COVID-19 hospitalizations in the city  have risen 25% since late September. Region 8 (where my parents are--about 20-25 miles from my house in the City) recently surpassed 8% average positivity rates. The highest positivity rate in Illinois is over 11% in Region 1 where Illinois borders Iowa and Wisconsin.

I'm anxious, bored, angry, and tense. I fear the week of November 3 and all of November. I fear that November will bring quiet chaos of empty grocery shelves, but I'm afraid to do any stocking up. Both for fear of looking foolish and also because the grocery store is scary.

I lose track of days. No, that's not right. I woke up knowing it was Sunday, October 11(ish--I probably thought it was the 12th), that in a normal year, we should be hearing the marathon crowds gathering. I remembered that we wouldn't be hearing them.

But I can't remember when last I showered. Or called my mom. Or how long ago that doctor's appointment was. The sameness is exhausting.

The mistakes that come from it are strange and often inconsequential. But i stay exhausted from it.

Mom drove in to the City and we had lunch in the yard. Mom despises eating outdoors. She never even mentioned it.

Lunch was good. There's a family-owned & run Mexican place just a few doors down and that was where lunch came from. 

I miss my Mom. 

She helped me pick paint. Validated my design choices. And I did not even cry. Though she scolded me about despair. I told that when something good happens--or when any local, state or federal government helps someone--I don't discount it.

It was beautiful in the yard, sunny, cool, crisp. It was almost normal.

The fender for my bike finally arrived--it's cream when it should be black.

My daily presciption has no refills left--three months early.

Ikea is finally sending my order--but just the doors and hinges, not any of the actual furniture. And the cancelation form sent a "sorry, we could not cancel this order" auto-response. And the phone tree (after you go through several options) gets you "Sorry, we can't handle any more calls" and hangs up.

And did I mention? Four sticks & three blown veins and an arm full of black bruises for an IV for a routine out-patient thing that could not be rescheduled. Plus 90 minutes of screaming anxiety in the public waiting room before they got around to me.

Not a single goddamn thing goes smoothly.

I fell off there for a while. 15 days. I had a minor out-patient procedure which resulted in three blown veins (for the IV) and one minor panic attack and a clean bill of health. And a whole weekend of sleeping.

That's not why I stopped taking notes, however.

But I fell off chronicling how things are because--if you'd noticed--there's little to chronicle. Aside from that one trip to the hospital, I don't leave the house except to walk in the park or sit in the yard. Spouse runs the errands; picks up the take-out. Zoom hangouts are nothing to write home about.

I'm doing postcards to voters but I'm not volunteering. I'm making my phone calls. But I have no insight; no power; no unique take. We're mostly unaffected--no changes to our employment; no illness in our families; no child we're trying to shepherd through trauma. And my own thoughts are simplistic: I'm bored; I'm frustrated; Everything is unreal; I'm frightened.

I laugh and enjoy things with the Spouse or on chats with the friends. I feel strange when things seem normal. I can't wrap my head around the banality of work in this context. I have no hope and periodically we look at ways to leave the country. We have enough money (assuming out money retains any of its current value) but we have no rights to live in another country and we're too old to be attractive as immigrants. I have few marketable skills. It's truly frightening at times.

Today was endless and undifferentiated. I did a handful of random work tasks. A couple minor house tasks. Cooked dinner.

I owe an email to some people who are asking after my health, but I can't bring myself to write back. The truth is the health issue is actually under control and probably needing no more concern, but I'm not done convalescing. I'm trying to figure out what to say that says I'm going to be without capacity for a while, without implying I'm sick. 

I have some virtual social time and a trip to the fancy bakery across the street on the calendar for this week. And a new lipstick is supposedly coming in the mail. How exciting! The world burns, and still we wear lipstick.