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Dear Diary – My brother was responsible. He’s responsible for a lot of things. Like my fear of dark, confined spaces. I don’t remember exactly how this one came about, but it’s been a family joke for years: 23 is “OLD”. We threw my brother an “Over the Hill” party for his 23rd birthday, complete with sympathy cards and mittens with strings.

I don’t know about you, but this year is starting to feel old. We’re in our 23rd week of 2021, and while patios open tomorrow and 15 people can now attend a funeral, we still can’t get our hair cut or have a bbq with our neighbours. Which is ok with me. I spend enough waking hours listening to 5 year elephant having temper tantrums next door Quarantine got “old” a long time ago.

When we begin to merge back into society from our isolation, I just hope some of our judgmental and “me-first” attitudes will have died off and we’ll think more of others. I hope we have learned to slow down, to breathe, and to appreciate the blessings in our life, especially the people we have missed. And I hope that we learn to shower, and brush our teeth, maybe even dress in something other than our pajamas before we leave the house.

Dear Diary – I totally misread the subject line of my Michael’s flyer. It said “liquidex” but I thought it said “Mix your painting style with liquor”. That could be interesting!

Dear Diary – Tuesday was my final Intro to Comedy Writing course and “presentation” day. Some people went all out with costumes and sound effects. I sang my song, “Queen of His Latrine” for the class, but I wish I had done more. I could have borrowed a cowboy hat. I could have blackened my front teeth. I could sung it with much more of a country twang. It’s probably a one-hit wonder (and by one-hit, I mean one person laughed), but you never know. I have some ideas for church-based skits, if I can russle up some partners in crime. And as a “grad”, I’ve been invited to join a private monthly comedy gathering to share ideas. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t leave my day job just yet, sewing facemasks and pretending to cleaning the house, but one of these days I’ll figure out what I’m supposed to do when I grow up.

Growing up is mandatory. Growing up is optional.

Walt Disney

Dear Diary – I did a push up today. Well, actually I tripped over a pair of shoes, but I had to use my arms to get back up, so close enough. Now I need chocolate.

Dear Diary – The gift I ordered for Hubby for our 25th wedding anniversary arrived today. I now know why people steal packages from the front porch…because it takes too freaking long to open the package to steal its contents!

Dear Diary – All winter we looked forward to the day when we could go out and walk, and start to lose some of this covid weight. There were some glorious evenings when we did just that. I have yoga pants that have been worn thin at the thigh to prove it! Now it’s getting hot and the covid weight is clinging to me like skin on a hot vinyl car seat. Peeling it off is going to be a long, painful process!

This week, Hubby and I pulled ourselves from our stinky couch, the one with butt impressions that hug our huge hynies so perfectly. Even though the sun was low on the horizon, the temperature was just above body temperature, so that as we perspired, the evening breeze offered no relief. It did not deter our neighbours from having a party. These daddies ducked their ducklings for an early Boys Night Out.

Only one defiantly stared at me when I took a picture so I could inform on their illegal, non-social-distanced gathering.

Farther down the street, we discovered a “private party” at another bar, as well as an unsavoury character in the shadows.

We’ve had drug dealers on our street before, but I never expected this kind of shameful behaviour in plain view. I mean, there are innocent, wide-eyed children playing soccer and riding bikes on this street. There goes the neighbourhood!

Good fences make good neighbours. Bad neighbours make good fertilizer.