I know it feels important to lots of folks to be marking time right now. I get it, I do. There’s an archivist’s desire to make note of what we’re experiencing, and a baffled survivor’s need to double check that this is really real. (Also, for some of us, it’s just a way of keeping track of what day it is.)
Me? I’d rather not. Every time I telescope out and look at the past (remember 17 years ago when it was January?) or the future (aaaand now July’s cancelled), I get sadder and more overwhelmed. Call it denial (I mean, that’s fair), but I’m only staying very foggily connected to the calendar.
Thus, this:
Haiku 20
April 20
I don’t count the days
stacking up like river stones.
Today is today.
Yes! I kind of cringe hearing people say “day whatever of the quarantine.” Let’s not count – let’s just live. I read an essay yesterday about being present, and good grief, do we need that reminder almost hourly.