Sunday, September 20th, 2020

I approach today thinking that it’s my 63rd birthday. Then I do the math. It’s 2020. I was born in 1958. I’m only turning 62. I’ve been wrong about this for months. It’s disorienting. But I do feel younger. I’ve never been good at remembering information without double checking. That’s one reason I’m more comfortable with people online than in person. Online, I can fact check myself. On Friday, at the phone store, I signed a receipt for some equipment. I had to put down my local phone number. I forgot it. Fortunately, I soon remembered a mnemonic, decoded it, and wrote it down. The salesman was not amused. He pointed out the window at the people on the square in wheelchairs and, as he put it, “their filipinim.” He suggested that I might need one soon. It was my turn not to be amused. Yesterday, I had to fill in my American phone number on a web form. Even with a similar mnemonic, that took several tries. Today, like yesterday, I am at home, alone. I wake up early after a bad night’s sleep with too much dreaming. I get breakfast, get online, get the first stream of birthday wishes. (Thank you all.) I fall asleep again and wake up at 2 PM. I get lunch, get online again, get further wishes. My music library finishes indexing itself after churning for five days. I wrestle with the server. It eventually works well enough. I haven’t seen anyone else in person in two days. I haven’t spoken to anyone today. Headlines tell me that the lockdown may become tighter in the morning. At least the government thinks my job is essential. Tomorrow I will go to work.