August 31, 2020

August 31, 2020 

End of the month, unofficial end of Summer as Lisa started her first day of class today. Now we have to find another new rhythm as we both have 8:00 start times. First on the agenda, reset the coffee maker to have the pot ready we’ll before 8:00. 

We ended the month joining friends for a birthday dinner in LA. We drove through downtown with ease, and I felt a little pang, missing the days when I’d walk among the buildings for food, drink, and art. Museums have yet to reopen, though i suppose street art still flourishes - but I haven’t sought that out. 

It seems things are getting started, school, the upcoming election. Showdowns are looming as we wonder, will the violence continue, will the virus spring back with colder weather? Many have already written off 2020, but we are only two-thirds through it. 

I finished a book today. My first since Covid, and one that hopefully breaks this chain. I read the Philosopher Queens, an awesome collection of short biographies and overviews of 20 female philosophers from antiquity to present. A great read, and a book destined to reside in my desktop instead of bookshelf as it presents a sort of amuse bouche of each thinker, but includes an appendix listing primary and secondary sources for each, along with a list of dozens of other women philosophers not included in the text (volume II?). I should mention I was also a contributor to this project, so perhaps have a little bias. Honestly though, I received my BA in philosophy in 1984 without studying a single female philosopher - that is a tragic gap I’m still trying to fill. The book inspired me to add Angela Davis to my list, seems appropriate for these times - four months left of 2020.

August 27, 2020

August 27, 2020 

It’s been awhile. I want to say it’s because the days blend into an indistinguishable monotony, each day no different than the next. But that isn’t true. As I look back there were significant moments, that stand out in my mind. The problem is owning them as they mark moments of erosion to my own intentions. 

Covid still rages, the numbers keep climbing, and yet I’ve gone out, had dinner outdoors, had my hair cut in a parking lot, and gone on trips with people from other households. Perhaps enough time has passed that I can say these things with the arrogant smirk of “see we’re all still okay.” But I still think of those things and wonder if I should have - those moments of unplanned interactions with strangers when I said to myself - well I’ve already gone this far. 

It’s a weird sort of guilt, these pandemic secrets where we’ve broken our quarantine, survived, and justify it retroactively - if only to ourselves. These stolen pleasures fraught with anxiety that prevent us from fully indulging ourselves in them. 

So here I am, still waiting things out, still working from home and occasionally breaking the monotony in secret stolen moments that I’m still not ready to fully confess.