Family and friends tell me the world is completely different because of coronavirus. You can’t go anywhere, have to stay in one place, can’t socialize in big groups. The stay-at-home order is like a lock down. “yeah, that sucks,” I joke, “I wonder what that’s like.” Nothing much has changed here except that we have to wear masks everywhere but the cube; we skip a seat in the chow hall, which is nice cuz before you’d always bump elbows with the guy next to you; and they closed the weight pits. The back 40 (the track, softball fields, pull up/dip bars area) is still open but you still have to wear a face mask. I went for a 3 mile run the other day and felt like I was suffocating, huffing and puffing through the face mask.
I’m reading a book called “Becoming Whole: Jung’s Equation for Realizing God.” It’s pretty esoteric. I’ve been keeping a dream journal for the last few weeks, jotting down my dreams soon after waking. It’s an aid for recall and lucid dreaming. My dreams have only become more vivid and interesting. As Jung would say, I’m exploring my shadow.
They added a $6 bag of coffee to the store. It’s really Mexican espresso and few people accept it as payment so I got stuck with it. Honestly, Cafe Bustelo, as it’s called, is 50% libation and 50% laxative. After one cup, I dropped a bodacious load. I drank another and had to go to the bathroom again. I sat down on the toilet and loudly farted for 30 seconds straight. “Damn, throw some water on that shit,” someone shouted, even though it didn’t smell. I hated that. When I first came down, I was super self-conscious about taking a shit because motherfuckers cutting hair or bullshitting would always sneer that it smelled like shit. I don’t know if it was because I was a skinny white guy clearly out of his element or what but I’d wait until it was super late to go blow the bathroom to avoid the hassle. Now, I don’t give a fuck and no one really says shit anymore. If they do, I yell back, “that’s cuz it’s shit dumbass!”