Spending all day indoors doesn’t feel as bad as it should. The spring rain helps. There’s no sunshine guilt.

I’ve been watching the birds come to the front porch. A pair of mourning doves perch on the railing. They shimmy and fluff themselves against the rain. Their feathers are the color of quiet hope. Their call – OhhOO…Ooooh…Ooooh – like a porcelain haunt in the pitches of my memory.

The hours slip into one another and 8am is 4pm with a few stretches, distractions, and snacks down the hatch. Days don’t as easily slip into one another. Friday feels further than it did when I actually went to work.

Cleaning has become a new hobby. I smiled satisfactorily, inwardly, as bleach clawed at the inside of my nose during my second EVER toilet scrubbing. This feels like what I should be doing. Or should have. This feels strangely like adulting.