Dear Diary,

When we changed the time on the clocks, I didn’t realize we were entering the twilight zone.

It’s been 27 days since my last Tim Horton’s steeped tea, black. To say I’m experiencing severe withdrawal would be the understatement of the century.  The yearning, the nagging headache, the yearning. I have a clean, empty Tim’s cup in my car and I have to fight the urge just to sneak out in the night and hug it. It’s a perpetual  problem.

There are so many perpetual problems.

The nagging tension between what you should do and what you want to do. Or worse, the lack of motivation to do anything at all.

Little Guy is living in his pajamas. Every few days, I make him change his shirt, but all the battles with my children to get them to bathe regularly have been rendered moot! In his defense, while I make an effort to get dressed every morning (because that’s what I’ve heard civilized people do), I’ve been schlepping about the house in leggings and flannel shirts. They’re basically the equivalent of pajamas, so I’m no role model. I’m thinking seriously of giving up and just living in my pjs too…

In an effort to do better, I shaved my legs this week, since they rivaled Big Guy and he’s a lumberjack. He’s supposed to be hairy. It’s how he keeps warm in the winter months. But I’m not a lumberjack and I shouldn’t look like one. I moisturized too because my skin resembles the walking dead. It didn’t help. The day may come when I have no choice but to bare my white, yeti thighs under a frilly, feminine sundress. But today is not that day!

One bad hair day merges with the next bad hair day, in one long series of bad hair days. I don’t have enough blue hair dye left to “touch up” so in a few weeks’ time, I’m going to be sporting a whole weird rainbow. I can hardly wait.


I had to document the one good hair day I have had in weeks!

There’s an edge of panic that clings tightly, like a snail on a rotten tomato, that we might run out of food, or worse, toilet paper. We “spin the wheel” like we’re cracking open a safe…one notch at a time. I went shopping with Mom to restock supplies for the week. The experience was sobering. Fellow shoppers glared at each other with predatory instincts, and swerved their grocery carts in wide berths around each other. We could get ice cream bars but not butter, and most of the good cookies were gone. I admit the experience of being slowly herded through checkout like stupid sheep wasn’t too dehumanizing. And watching my mother try to put on a pair of latex gloves was hilarious.

Laughing or crying, I’m struggling to survive this one day at a time…