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?