probably good not to read; it might seem too familiar
|The child, my child, came with a quest for help. "Where have you been?", the English Book asked my child. "I need your help!" ... Whatever for? ...Oh.
Since Ms. Corona visited, we've seen a lot of walls. They talk a bit more now, after you talk to them enough. They've got random low lands landscaped in the white paint. I'd hug the walls more, but they don't hug back yet. I'm not sure why. They aren't so great at conversation, but they are better than the floor which whines of the carpet moving as people walk over it. And you know the cabinet? It squeaked at me the other day! How rude! Doesn't it realize there are conversational rules? Looking at the ceiling, it surprisingly doesn't complain of air vents or smoke detectors or ceiling fans or lights. I might complain if I had to hold up half of that, all the time. Guess it's the quiet sort. And you know the refrigerator isn't offering any new snacks. The pantry is almost laughing that there is no more cho-co-late. I miss the donuts, the chocolate, the candies, and the snacks. I didn't eat much before, but now I miss all of it. I used to run at the gym, but now the couch says come play with me. I used to lift weights, but now I lift food that fell on the carpet. I used to eat fast food on the weekend, but now I satisfy myself with store bought shredded cheese and store bought white corn tortilla. I used to go outside, and look at the sun, looking at the door to remember if I locked it. Now it sometimes is a hunt for the mask that I need to wear before visiting the fresh air. Some professor in the news said the virus takes seventy days to finish... so if that's true, why couldn't they have just quarantined the sick in January through April so people wouldn't wonder about their Christmas? Oh well, that's probably too annoying to admit it might be plausible. That's fine until I start talking to the table. And what a lovely table you are? Is that wood your color, or do you wish you had more fir? Please tell me, my table. Do please tell me.
Yes, the walls are really nice this time of year. A little sun and they look a delight. Oh, if only I could see that rainbow hitting that white... just one more time. If I spoke to the mirror, I guess I'd be strange. And so now I type in cyber space, wishing I was in the latter.
You know things are rough when the astronauts are hesitant to say how much they look forward to coming back to Earth. You know why that space station's nice? There ain't no Ms. Corona in it.