I am profoundly uninterested in seeing the new James Bond film, not just because I am done with that sort of retrograde masculinity but because I am pretty sure it doesn’t take into account the vast trauma of COVID-19 and our collective (by which I mean my personal) inability to process anything more emotionally complicated than a plate of beans right now. So even if this James Bond had somehow embedded himself as a crew member on the British Bake-off in order to unmask the cruel villany we all assume lives deep in the heart of Paul Hollywood, I would only be 50% on board for seeing it. I don’t think even popcorn and a large root beer would get me dressed and out the door. Because I am pretty fucking far from okay right now, Butch, and James Bond is the opposite of helping.

I say all this, but I’m fine. I mean, no — I’m not — who is? — but I am totally functioning on the day-to-day. I love our new place, I love living with Brian and my hilarious son. Love is not the problem. Fiction is the problem, and James Bond is missing the goddamn point. I don’t want to try to follow some writer’s action-saturated story when reality itself is still out of fucking control.

Mrs. Kennedy, why don’t you stop cursing so much and write your own COVID-year story? Weren’t you working on a novel anyway? Process your emotions with of art! Collage your feelings into a glorious mosaic of truth!

NO THANK YOU, I WOULD RATHER NOT

I’ve read a few pieces and spoken with friends about how they’re transitioning back into their office jobs, and even though I know I’ll get very little sympathy for being all wah wah wah, I want to keep working from home in my pajamas, I would very much like to do that, please. I have a wonderful job and am deeply grateful for it but I would also like to vote for a pajamas-all-the-time party where no one ever has to pretend to look busy again, or work for ten hours straight without a chance to change your tampon, or whatever fresh hell is churning out of today’s greediest minds. Is a six-hour workday possible? It might be in Finland, and according to Ancestry dot com I am 34% Finnish so I say yes, it has to be, for everybody, no exceptions. Don’t ask me how that would work, I’m not an economist, but I will demonstrate by writing a story where James Bond chases criminals for three hours at a time, with a one-hour lunch break, and then goes home and does various hobbies until bedtime.

I DON’T EVEN KNOW ANYMORE

It’s the spookiest month of the year, and though I’ve never been a fan of the horror genre, my special man friend has already proposed buying two sets of Halloween-themed window decals, and he has impulse-purchased a glass pumpkin from Pottery Barn. I think it’s heckin’ adorable and I am all-in on however he decides to ghost this place up, especially because he is considering dressing up as a certain video game owl this year and I cannot WAIT to see him giving out candy to awestruck teens, millennials, and whatever wee children dare to ring our (extremely normal—for now) doorbell.

Speaking of people arriving at our door, our neighbor came over the other day and asked if we knew whose car was parked in front of his house. I did know: it was Brian’s car. Brian had moved his car over in front of neighbor’s house on the day Catholic Charities came to pick up some furniture we’d been storing in our garage, and then we’d gotten busy and Brian had never moved his car back into our driveway. So I apologized to this neighbor, assuming that maybe he had a delivery truck coming, or was throwing a party, or a van was soon arriving with his elderly mother and it would be really helpful to have the space right in front — but no. No one else has parked in front of his house. He just wanted that space to be empty again. So now we’ve got that to deal with. It turns out that Jackson, too, had parked in front of this neighbor’s house once and this neighbor stood in his front window and glared at Jackson, who of course didn’t give a shit and will park wherever he wants because it’s a public street and fuck you.

I mean, on some level I get it — COVID has made us all a little weird and it’s possible this guy works from home in three-hour chunks and during his one-hour break he stands at his window being his very own Neighborhood Watch and that’s cool, god bless, let’s all pull together and D.A.R.E. to resist drugs and violence. I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt because sometimes people just have their one thing. But now I’m watching him, too.