Dumbest thing I saw yesterday: an apparent street medic (I saw a helmet with a red cross on it) with a respirator dangling from their neck, riding the Max with no mask and sitting in a “don’t sit here” seat.
Fatigue has been heavier for around a week or so, to the point today where it’s so heavy I can’t even crash into a nap because it feels like my body isn’t settling into a proper state, which I understand doesn’t make any sense.
Everything about Ed Yong’s master list of how the United States systemically and systematically botched its response to the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic is depressing, but the most brutal part comes early on.
Deadlier pathogens almost certainly exist. Wild animals harbor an estimated 40,000 unknown viruses, a quarter of which could potentially jump into humans. How will the U.S. fare when “we can’t even deal with a starter pandemic?,” Zeynep Tufekci, a sociologist at the University of North Carolina and an Atlantic contributing writer, asked me.
Exhausted and on-edge from a full night of dreams waking me every couple of hours to a sinkhole of fear and anxiety hollowing out my chest; one I often could feel straight through to my back.
I’ve almost unquestionably had a noticeable cognitive decline in the past two decades, I think.
“The Most Magical Place on Earth” is one of the best-ever episodes of the Social Distance podcast.
After a terror of a nightmare I returned to sleep only briefly before waking at five to one cat spitting up because she again drank from dirty dishes in the sink, a stomach that kept me on the toilet for twenty minutes, and the other cat leaping over me in bed to attack a mystery something on the wall. Today seems not too great so far.
I‘d like to know why Black Lives Matter protesters graffitiing a building is terrorism but the “unmasked community” isn’t. Just kidding. I know why. So do you.
Well, this is disturbing: the out of control policing-by-gas downtown appears to be causing menstrual irregularities, including “[t]rans protesters who had stopped menstruating since taking testosterone [seeing] their cycles restart”, according to interviews with “36 protesters, ranging in age from 17 to 43” conducted by OPB.
Sam Bloch’s ode to shade, for Places Journal, is a sort of quasi-expose of the inequities of its distribution. It’s funny how the places without shade trees just happen to be the unwealthy places with narrow sidewalks and shallow-buried utilities which preclude being able to plant any. It’s galling, too, to see non-tree tactical urbanist DIY solutions being shut down.
It did not cool down sufficiently overnight and I got my windows closed about ninety minutes too late this morning and it’s going to be 100° again and today is going to be a bad day. I’m not saying it will be 100° inside; it won’t. But neither will it successfully remain only around 70° inside.
It cost a bit more in terms of money, but in order to save costs in terms of psychic resources, the salad fixings I bought for the heatwave included a package of peppers and onions that had been pre-cut for grilling, which meant no prep for cutting; just cutting. I’ve come to hate the process of salad-making, because I find it exhausting. Anything I can do to shave off some of the effort means that things like actually thinking about salad as a wya to survive the heatwave don’t fizzle out into not having the energy then to make a salad at all.
It hit 95º outside by 3:00pm but so far, thanks to windows-open all night with a fan pulling in cool air until I shut everything down this morning, my apartment is holding at 70º. That will rise, but it looks like maybe I won’t hit 85º in here after all.
Well, they won. By 1:00pm I was back in bed and asleep with the AirPods’ noise cancellation turned on, and I slept straight through until 4:30pm, and now I feel like I have a hangover, which likely will last until I go back to bed at the end of the day.