This day was a bit much, I could feel an anxiety attack coming on, so I walked Sam, practiced yoga, took some valerian drops, and imbibed a glass of cognac. I'm relaxed now, thank you very much. Listening to Sam as he sighs in front of the heater, I am sleepy and ready to crawl into the mouth of a warm cave, from which I'll never emerge. Sam sighs one last time and then surrenders to warmth and comfort and human proximity.

I could have another glass of cognac. (There is, after all, an entire pub downstairs.) But despite my ability to put down a ridiculously ample amount of alcohol and my propensity for partners with prodigious drinking habits (ok, the ex-husband was an alcoholic), I was never a boozehound. I don't like hangovers or getting loose with my thoughts among acquaintances. My mind is hazy enough as it is.

Anyways, the husband said the pub down the street was quiet last night. Half of their regulars came down with covid, and the rest aren't coming in because the other half aren't there. "We're all going to get covid," said the husband last night. Everyone keeps saying that. That really pissed me off. I'm so tired of it all.

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