I can make out menus for the week.
I can shop online for food and text back and forth with the harried shopper who is trying to find substitutions for what I want.
I can cook.
I can do Facebook.
I can, unfortunately, read all the articles.
I can read books but only intermittently and only well-written and well-paced novels.
I can Facetime with family.
I can do a mindless online coloring app.
I can do Netflix but only highly entertaining movies or series (recommendations, please!)
I can get out almost every day for a walk except when it’s cold or rainy or just unpleasant. (So about three times a week.)
I can do little spurts of deep housecleaning.
I can do Zoom meetings if someone else sets them up but no more than a few a week.
I can meditate for up to 20 minutes, no more.
I can sleep most nights.
I can appreciate my quiet house. The Pink Lady is a good place for isolating.
I can enjoy the view from my porch.
I can be fairly nice to my husband most of the time.
I can appreciate having another quiet person in the house. We three are doing introversion really well.
I cannot listen to music.
I cannot play games.
I cannot do online tours of art museums even if they are free.
I cannot take online courses.
I cannot do puzzles.
I cannot, cannot, cannot do anything the least bit creative with my time.
I cannot go deep.
I cannot read anything deep.
I cannot ponder meaning.
I cannot reach out beyond my closest circles.
I cannot give advice.
I would characterize my life right now as privileged. For this I am grateful, but my gratitude is tinged by sadness for the suffering and anger at needless suffering.
How about you?