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Drogon critiques my journal.

Woke up to dire news via Anxious Friend Viber. In the latest report to Congress the president said he could not sleep from thinking about how to address the outbreak because government has run out of money and he knows people are hungry but all he can tell them is to lock themselves in their houses. The “veerus”, he said, is not afraid of his big mouth and only science can fight it. If shooting the virus could kill it, the crisis would be over by now.

At which point coffee shot out of my nose, and I hadn’t even had coffee yet.
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Motel by Edward Hopper at the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum. She knows how you feel.

I was almost out of milk and butter (I am basic and still consume dairy) so I stepped out of the building and went to the 7-11. First time in 13 days that I ventured farther than the parking space. Later I realized that I’d forgotten to bring my quarantine pass; lucky no one asked to see my papers. (Spy cosplay will keep us from despair.)
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Adam Sandler! “Doctors and nurses will save us from this mess if we get them the supplies that they need / And I hope they save us soon cause I’m really, really sick of my family.”

It’s positively indecent when people are climbing the walls, but I am in a good mood. Of course I worry about Apocalypse, which now comes in four flavors (with more in product development)—Pestilence, Starvation, Recession, and Unrest—but I can escape into a bubble of cheerfulness by practicing my Olympic-level talent in sleeping, or by reading a book.
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Jan van Grevenbroeck (1731-1807), Venetian doctor during the plague. Museo Correr, Venice

Things I found in my old and underused refrigerator while searching for something dessert-ish

1. Stalactites in the freezer

2. Rose-flavored Turkish delight from 2017. That’s definitely a dessert but I’m not sure it’s still edible and will only open the box if we’re 20 pages into the Book of Revelations.
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The stray cats are in heat, their cries slicing the quiet of the neighborhood like scissors through tin foil. They’re at it in the middle of the night, and sometimes at mid-afternoon. My feline companions, all neutered, run to the windows for a glimpse of cat porn. If crime is down 56% as the police declare, will the population growth rate also show a decline in nine months? Or with everyone trapped at home, will there in fact be a population boom?
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Ten-minute sunbath at noon cancelled as the UV Index is cranked up to 11 and I don’t want to inadvertently acquire superpowers (Advertently, yes). Oh great, now a theme from those primitive Marvel cartoons of my childhood is playing in my head:

Doc-tor Banner
Affected by gamma rays
Turns into The Hulk
Pretty and glamorous!

At least that’s what I thought the lyrics said, and I assumed it was irony. I just googled the actual lyrics and they turn out to be:
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