Diary of a Mad Writer
Day One, Corona Incarceration, March 13
Hello readers, a funny thing happened coming home to Rehoboth. I didn’t. Being ancient and having just had pneumonia, we took no chances. So I’m still in Florida, sheltering in place.
And the place is a comfy house with a pool, plenty of food, booze, dog food, and our little pack ready for what comes next. But I’m homesick as hell.
The hoarding of toilet paper has begun. Luckily, there’s a towering collection of coffee filters available. It could happen.
Day 15, Happy 38th F&B, March 27
Yes, it’s our 38th anniversary, but Bonnie claims it’s only 19 as she only listens to me half the time.
Scored two enormous packages of toilet paper from a neighbor whose wife didn’t like the brand he brought home. Who knew I’d ever be more excited about $50 worth of toilet paper than $50 worth of Grey Goose. Best anniversary gift ever.
For somebody who frequented restaurants regularly, even as a small child, I’m going cold turkey on eating out. I suspect I’ll survive the withdrawal symptoms but I have to remember not to tip Bonnie when I get up from the table.
Hey, we baked “special” brownies for dessert tonight to celebrate..
Day 16, Alcatraz Daze, March 28
OMG, I haven’t been that stoned since the Vietnam War. Happy anniversary!
Day 25. Cellblock Tango, April 6
Warrior pose! We do yoga three times a week with friends on Facetime. And we walk to the marina, socially distancing from people and pelicans. We know how very lucky we are. Our hearts hurt for those alone or suffering without food or money. And those who have lost loved ones.
Day 28, Cloudy with a Chance of Boredom, April 9
So the car gets three weeks to the gallon but our grocery bill is the gross national product of Monaco.
TV sustains us with many reporters and interviewees working from home alongside their same-sex partners. With not a moment’s hesitation we hear “…from Seth Doan and his husband, quarantined in Italy.” It’s grand progress no matter what the dolts in DC wish for us.
And today we lost a lesbian pioneer—Phyllis Lyon, wife of the late Del Martin, age 95 (natural causes). They started the first lesbian organization in the country, back in the 1960s. We stand on their shoulders for just about everything. RIP, brave Phyllis.
Day 32, In the Gulag, April 13
The Florida governor is talking about opening the beaches. I guess folks want to look tan and healthy in their coffins. We are out of control, eating from boredom. I wear a mask outside, as they say, to protect others. I wear it inside the house to protect the high-risk Oreos.
Day 41, Gulfport Minimum Security Women’s Prison, April 21
OMG, the morons! Terrorists are protesting the stay at home orders. Armed and dangerous, yelling “give me freedom or give me death.” Who am I to tell them it’s not either/or?
No matter what the governors decide, I’m staying hunkered down. Why risk death for a cut and color? I’ve said “I’d rather die,” than go gray, but clearly I didn’t mean it.
Day 43, Just a Spoonful of Clorox®, April 23
Today the US president suggested getting disinfectant into our bodies so it would cure coronavirus like it rids germs in the sink. There are people who will do this and die! No Clorox® cocktail for me.
But the ice cream man came down our street today. We bought fudgsicles, handing over a $20 bill. Bonnie took the change in her gloved hand and after we had our treats, she washed the five and some ones with bleach. The drug cartels have nothing on our money laundering operation.
Day 44, 525,600 minutes…, April 24
We had a full day of thunder and lightning, binged Netflix with Circus of Books, a fascinating look at a clueless heterosexual Jewish couple who wound up running the largest gay porn store in LA. Then we watched A Secret Love. It’s a magnificent, heartbreaking story of two women who were together, closeted, for over 70 years. A must see.
Made mojitos with rum, simple syrup, and mint. We did not top it off with a disinfectant floater.
Day 51, The More Things Change, the More They…, May 2
We send heartfelt thanks to essential business workers and medical staffs. We appreciate them more than we can show right now. They say the final death toll will be about one percent. To my mind it’s going to take out the wrong one percent.
Day 59, May Day! May Day! (Deadline), May 10
By the time you read this, places are about to open up. Please stay safe and skip the Oxiclean™ martini. Don’t touch your face. Whisper of how I’m yearning to mingle with the old-time throng. Give my regards to….##
Fay Jacobs is an author of five published memoirs. Her newest is Fried & Convicted: Rehoboth Beach Uncorked. As a humorist, she’s touring with her show Aging Gracelessly: 50 Shades of Fay. See www.fayjacobs.com