I have been an uncle for almost four years.
My sister and brother-in-law have twin girls and a son who’s younger than his sisters.
I think about the days they were born every now and then, because they were days to celebrate.
When those kids were born, I was just about euphoric.
I have probably told this story here before if you were to check the archives, but the day I became an uncle euphoria served me well.
We learn how to stand in a line in kindergarten or earlier.
I guess the reason is order or control.
Lines last throughout our lives.
I’ve been in plenty of lines.
This is a story about a time I got in the wrong one.
Thankfully, I haven’t been able to relate to a lot of the struggles people have experienced throughout the coronavirus crisis.
Time’s passage is familiar.
I understand days, months and years just fine.
Time seems to pass faster the longer I live, but I don’t always understand why people label things the way they do because of it.
When, exactly, does someone become old?
The crazy time happens just before dark.
Today, I’d been home from work for a little while, and I got another chance to do what’s become part of my routine since “coronavirus” and “quarantine” became parts of regular conversations.
I sit on the front porch in a rocking chair and read.
I cracked a new book open today, but I didn’t get through the prologue before it started.
It was the crazy time, when those crazy things come from who knows where and try to eat me alive.