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.

2020 is a leap year that lept the whole year. We can celebrate birthdays, but they don’t count.

Someone needs to write a book that takes all the best lessons from all the best end-of-the-world movies and mashes them together. Ok, not a book, a blog because a book is too long in a survival situation. And fine, not someone, me.

In the corona—or the ‘rona now that we have grown familiar—love has to work twice as hard for half the pay.

Those fabulous plans to make the most of this blessed time together have been torn asunder by said fabulous plans and those with whom I am blessed with togetherness. But mostly by me.

I’m creating a new reality and an academic exercise in reality all within a virtual space.

Mr. DeMille, I am not ready for my close-up.

In the Corona, we no longer have a weekday or a weekend, just a series of hours in which to get things done—or to not get things done—does it matter?