There will be a day when lock-down ends and we wake up to non-quarantine, out-placed, unsheltered—in another space looking at the same place but calling it something else.

…if you will remember from yesterday’s blog’s dramatic cliffhanger, it was Shakespeare’s birthday, and I was challenging my son to write a sonnet to supplement the poetry study he has (not really) been doing for his remote learning freaking homework.

No one ever under-uses commas—students pepper their writing with them or throw them like confetti on an essay. But that never makes the writing spicier or more entertaining.

The energy to move him forward has to come from him and his energy goes forward in all directions at the same time. Forward depends on which way one’s looking…and he is always looking at something no one else sees.

And now, staring at the page in front of you, you feel the truth of your words prickling down your spine and into your bowels like a centipede wearing crampons. What you have done you can edit, re-write, or delete, but you can’t undo.

While I want the shops, organizations, and activities that existed before the corona to be there after the corona, I also want to keep some of the things I am enjoying in the corona.

I sometimes wonder why we can make light of some tragedies and not others or how long the wait between catastrophe and joke about the catastrophe lasts. 2,000 years seems long enough.

Global thermonuclear war doesn’t seem like the worst option right now. It would probably kill the ‘rona.

Give your story an end that includes all that is photo-ready, all that is zoom and instant and avocado toast. Keep the cation once we rid ourselves of the stay.

And since we are talking about a delicious weekend inside of an indulgent Spring Break wrapped in a better-be-worth-the-calories coron-apocalypse, you need to make these days count.