Today is My 34th Wedding Anniversary
On “celebrating” in the United States of Pandemica
My husband and I have been married for thirty-four years, today. When you factor in the four years prior to our getting hitched, that’s a long time. And ups and downs notwithstanding, we should be able to celebrate our longtime union.
Ain’t gonna happen. Not in our “normal” fashion, anyway. Why? Because trying to bust through the monotony that is our daily existence during these “trying times” is damn near impossible.
Today feels like yesterday. Yesterday felt like the day before, and on and on. When I awaken in the morning, I have to make a concerted effort to determine what day it is. Many times, I’m wrong.
I know there are those of you thinking, “Hey, you can still make the day special! Stop whining, girl!”
Okay. I get it. Although trying to wring “special” out of this shitty situation is damn near impossible. Enforced gaiety in the confines of our home is not the same as getting done up for a night out at one of our favorite restaurants.
I don’t mean to give the impression that, if we could, we’d be lighting up the town five nights a week, as we are homebodies to an extent, but it would be nice to have the option, you know?
At least we have our three cats to make us laugh. They always do and love the fact that Mommy and Daddy are home all the freakin’ time! More cuddles for them equals more joy for us.
Still, we’re losing time, folks. Every one of us. Huge chunks of it. Time and memories that we’d otherwise be making in order to have something to cling to in our dotage. And I am furious. Furious and frightened. Summer is already a distant memory if you can call it that. It came and went with a wink and a wave. “Buh-bye! See you next year if you make it that long.”
What is going to happen to all our tomorrows? Will we even have them? As Covid is spiking in over half of our fifty states and the moronic subhumans who support Trump refuse to get with the program — no masks or social distancing for them — and continue to flock, asshole to elbow like maggots on a rotting piece of meat, what are our chances of getting out of this anytime soon?
And then, there’s the Devil to contend with. The Apprentice to the Presidency who will do whatever it takes to ensure a win in November. He is already way off the rails, and we can only imagine the evil he’ll instigate if he doesn’t win.
Damned if we do…you know the rest. Because he can still do a hell of a lot of harm from November to January.
Bottom line, the monster, and “mass murderer” has to go. The entire Trump crime family has to go or we’re going to have even less to look forward to than we do now. Imagine that scenario, if you will. I cannot.
Rather, I fantasize about him being marched out of the White House in cuffs. To paraphrase Martha and the Vandellas:
“Fall is here and the time is right for dancing in the streets.”
IF Biden/Harris take it. They have to.
So, back to today. I’m going to do my best to appear positive and upbeat and make the day better than yesterday. My husband and I deserve it. We waded through a lot of crap to get where we’re at today, and attention must be served.
Tonight, we’ll hunker down with our kitties and watch a movie, or one of our favorite Netflix binges and just chill. We’ll go to bed, get up and jump back into the fray. Just like you.
Soon, I’m going to head off to the grocery store to find something special to make for dinner. Right now, I haven’t a clue. Maybe I’ll Google some recipes, find something that isn’t too taxing or complicated. I don’t know. I’ll muddle through.
I always do.
© Sherry McGuinn, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
Thanks for reading, guys. If you liked this, here’s more:
