Sequestered on the West(ered) Side

Still waiting to TRULY care that I can’t do much right now other than hang out at home with my ridiculous cat; flopped on the sofa watching movies that I can stop and start at will; eating delicious food that I’ve prepared by myself, so I know exactly what’s going into it; running alone outside in my favorite city, seeing a variety of dogs, depending on the route I take; and transcribing a bunch of stuff for lawyers I never have to deal with directly, cursing at their recorded faces aloud, and frequently, in the comfort of my own home.

My wardrobe is weeping behind the closet door, worried that it will never have the opportunity to be seen outside those confines and paraded around town. I assure it this is temporary, that we’re not even going to deign to call this time “the new normal”, that eventually we’ll have places to go and people to meet and shows to see, and even on days when we have nowhere in particular to go, we’ll be able to strut our stuff just for the sake of strutting it. This horror will eventually end, and the outfits will make a triumphant return.

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