The Downside of Masks

It's hard to breathe in those things.

Here it is, almost August, and I have yet to embrace the pandemic as a way to find the inner me. Early on I had such enthusiasm! Painting my bedroom -- two coats -- gave me such satisfaction that I planned other home improvements. But as the months wore on I grew complacent and, dare I say, disheartened, and now do little every day but complain about all the things missing from my life.

This is ridiculous of course since very little is missing. The occasional concert or night out at the theater, travel to another country, shopping for clothes? Hosting dinner parties for friends? Big deal. Those experiences are all fleeting, lasting only as long as my brain can hold a memory. Still around are the beautiful yellow walls in my bedroom, making me smile every day. Home improvements are forever, and surely a much better use of one's time than traipsing around foreign countries eating exotic foods and taking selfies.

So starting today I shall pick something major that will improve my living space, something that will still be here when and if this pandemic ends, maybe never. And when that's finished I'll pick something else. Let's see, should I paint another room? Clean the entire house from top to bottom? I know -- paint those damn basement steps; I've been wanting to do that for ten years. Maybe move whole rooms and use the kitchen as the master bedroom? Certainly it would be convenient for late-night snacking.

Apparently being stuck at home so much has addled my brain a bit. Must be that damn face mask preventing me from getting enough oxygen and leaving me gasping for air. (See photo.)