You just tell her that the only way her heart will mend s when she learns to love again. And it won't make sense right now but you're still her friend. And then you let her down easy
- Robyn, "Call Your Girlfriend"
I'm a little surprised that I've somehow found something to write about nearly everyday of my quarantine, given that everyday is the same now.
Well, today is a touch different--I actually got up before 9am. I've been wandering around my house and yard for the last hour and half, unsure of how to proceed with my day without the noise and energy of a house full of people.
I tried to get myself to write, to work, to garden, to do anything really, but all I could muster was making coffee, eating a bowl of cereal, and staring into the trees. Maybe I should sing like the birds. It seems to do them just fine.
So, I write these little quarantine vignettes most days sitting at a cafe table on my back patio, and often I see these green lizards scampering across the top of my patio wall to catch a few rays before hiding back in the bushes. They do dances and make weird chirping noises. One of them inflates this strange red turkey wattle thing under his throat and does a dance. I assume he's trying to impress the ladies or something.
I've been meaning to catch one on tape, but it's hard most times. The moments are ephemeral, like strange dreamy details that are disconnected from the main storyline.
Finally I did get one on tape, and the funny thing is he ran right by my computer as Robyn's "Call Your Girlfriend" came on, and he paused, turned toward me, inflated his red turkey wattle thing, and then just as the beat dropped started his dance.