Day 7

I played a trick on sleep, making it think I'd join it for the night, but, hilariously, I snuck away after just a few hours, leaving it to wonder if its breath was bad. Then, when the light was in the window, I caught sleep napping, and I tricked it again. I held it by the tail until late in the morning.

Once it let it go, I had a cup of tea, did my little bit of writing, had another cup of tea, spoke for a while with the habitat-mate, drank a glass of water, took a short walk, ate a bread-tangle of freezer pizza, and here we are, spent from so many diversions, at the end of the day again.

No, I'm forgetting the biggest excitement of the day: Toast.  On Day 5 I turned flour into dough. On Day 6,  dough into bread. On the 7th day, bread into toast. Some practitioners of transubstantiation would take that last step in a different direction, but there are already two people in our small habitat.

Messages came and came again from the place of employment. They have a new plan for isolation time. A better one than before. They will still sell things, but not to people, and not the things they sell. They will, however, station someone outside to alert people to the fact that they aren't selling what they sell, nor anything to people.

Tomorrow the habitat-mate and I will plant seeds. Hope has itself convinced these isolation days will end before a sprout has time to show its head. Pessimism and Pragmatism are united in thinking we should contemplate a longer go and a deeper kind of self-dependence. Where Pessimism says there's not much point in sowing, Pragmatism's way of thinking is, when the peas come on, we'll be glad to have them one way or another.