Breathe (in and out), in public, without a mask on
Touch my face, a lot
Hug a random stranger on the street (and then take a 3-hour shower)
Don’t order from Amazon for at least 2 days
Don’t eat my own cooking for at least a year
Burn all my clothes (but remember to take them off first)
Delete my Zoom password
Cancel all fourteen of my streaming subscriptions, unplug my TV, and hide my computer and iPad
Go indoors somewhere other than a grocery store or pharmacy (maybe walk into a bar with a duck and a three-legged dog)
Pay Lacuna, Inc. (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) to erase my memory of the last 9 months (or better, 4 years, except for the hole-in-one)

Running out of new destinations for my daily Covid constitutional, I walked over to the local Armed Forces Recruitment Center today, but was surprised to find that it was closed, given how many people are out of work. So I couldn’t ask anyone there why they had a sign posted on the window that said No Weapons Allowed. I would think they could save a lot of money on training if they saw the wisdom of bringing in people who were already predisposed to violence.

On the other hand, the nearby public library had no such prohibition posted. I guess they assume that no self-respecting weapons addict would be caught dead, idiomatically, in a library.

A little further down the block there was a large advertisement on the side of a building promoting the services of a doctor in regard to medical cannabis consultations. I mention this only because, by the time I got home, it took me (and my worthless laptop spellcheck) three tries to spell cannabis correctly, and I hadn’t even had a consultation, though I can’t speak for the computer program.

In January, I got a haircut. I haven’t had one since, but have learned to strategically position seven mirrors, while contorting my body into a new yoga position I invented, to enable me to trim the back of my neck, with a minimum of bloodletting, after sufficient warmup, stretching, and prayer.

In February, I had a few people over to watch the Super Bowl. No one has entered my apartment since, but I saved the garbage as a memento, and to use as a continuing test of my sense of smell.

In March, I made a hole-in-one at the Old Course at St. Andrews on an indoor golf simulator, received a very nice credit to be applied toward further visits, and then received notice that the facility had shut down due to the virus.

In April, starting to feel very isolated and uncertain of the meaning of life, I sustained myself by concluding that, I Zoom, therefore I am.

In May, my car wouldn’t start and my plant died, but I soldiered on.

In June, I sucked it up and went to the dentist.

In July, I got together with friends (outdoors, with a tape measure), which, if memory serves me, used to be a thing.

In August, I ate my first quadruple chocolate cookies from Big Fat Cookie, giving me a reason to live while waiting on a vaccine.

In September, I played Pickle Ball for the first time in my life, and walked away uninjured, for the first time in my life.

In October, I changed my clocks, though my attempts to do so telekinetically failed.

In November, I recycled some light bulbs. It’s the little things.

Finally seeing hope for the future, in December I hope to start my own pre and post natal drum circle business.

With the oracular expectation of shortages that would result from another run on stores as we entered the fall and experienced a rapidly increasing number of COVID cases, I overstocked on everything I could and, not surprisingly, ran out of storage room, so that I had to clandestinely slip into the park in the dead of night with flashlight and shovel in hand and squirrel away dozens of frozen pizzas and rolls of toilet paper in a series of unmarked consumer staples graves.

I considered sketching a map to aid in later finding my stashes, but instead felt compelled to match my abilities against those of scatter-hoarding squirrels, who, while they may have memories that would put an elephant to shame, don’t, I think, have the advantage of being able to create mnemonic devices to help them find their buried treasures.

I experienced a moment of concern as to whether some hungry, little gray member of the family Sciuridae might accidentally happen across and then feast upon one of my Margherita specials. But Internet research allayed my fears, as there is no evidence of the creatures being able to operate an oven.

I realized that I also could turn a profit on my hoarding by converting the adventure into an online-based treasure hunt for people to while away the hours they might otherwise spend searching for a bar still open in violation of the latest governmental orders.

To that end, I signed up for a class on computer coding and another on starting a business out of your garage, which importantly includes advice on protecting your ideas when it’s a shared garage, as mine is.

It’s been over two months since I last posted something new, so I feel proud that nobody has asked for their money back to this free-to-access site, though a little disappointed that one has noticed (especially in China, where my daily hits have not taken a hit).

It’s a clear sign of COVID online shopping fatigue that I’m considering buying a gold-leafed spoon holder.

My new thermal gloves with texting fingertips are disappointing, as they don’t text on their own, and still require the use of a phone.

I bet no one else has thought of eliminating skin problems by wearing a U-V clean portable sterilizer on their face in lieu of a mask.

I’ve gained a whole new appreciation for the witches in Macbeth as I try to create the perfect poultice to remove a stain in a granite countertop, without the mixture eating through to the unit below.

My new oversized silicone oven mitts might or might allow me to rush into conflagrations to save small puppies (the product disclaimer says not to try that), but they certainly provide me with a flow of self-amusement as I pretend, ala Jonathan Winters improvising on live tv, that they are everything from car mufflers to penguin flippers.

As everyone knows, a major COVID-19 vaccine study has been put on hold due to a suspected adverse reaction in one of the participants. While such holds are routine, I’m worried about the rumor I heard that the occurrence was the growth of a six-toed left foot out of the right side of someone’s head, and that the growth of a left foot from the left side or a right foot from the right side might not have caused enough alarm to shut down the trial given the rush to get the vaccine to market.

Despite the fact that such a growth has never before been witnessed in the known universe, the possibility that it was unrelated to the vaccine is being thoroughly investigated before any conclusions are drawn, because, after all, we know nothing about life on other planets.

Meanwhile, rumor also has it that some of the richest families in America are combining resources to buy out several large hotel chains that are on the verge of bankruptcy in order to use them to house tribes of students, under guard, who are being kicked off college campuses for ignoring COVID-19 rules, thereby keeping those imps from returning home.

On a related note, deans of the affected universities report that attendance has been much higher at campus parties than in classes, causing the deans to consider giving courses more attractive names, such as Physical Fun with Physics and Chemicals You Can Drink.