I can’t explain it.
I don’t know how it happened.
But I’m fully disappointed in myself.
Yesterday was May 27th, 2020.
It was the first day in seventy days of quarantine that I didn’t upload a blog post.
The only other day that I haven’t written one was all the way back at the beginning, at Day One.
If you’ve never noticed, the writing started at Day Two. And we’ve all been counting up from there. After all, it was hard to understand that it was quarantined after only one day of being let off.
I know that it’s okay, somewhere deep down. I’m sure that it’s fine.
But that doesn’t make me feel any less shitty for missing out on a day.
It’s hard to say even what I was doing yesterday.
Reading? A lot.
I even remember going out onto Old Mission Peninsula and eating my dinner around the Lighthouse out there.
I did even manage to get some writing in. Apparently though, only in my notebook, and even then still only half a page of near illegible scribbles.
I’ll make up for it by posting again later this evening. Two in one day. That’s just as new as missing a day. So there’s a first time for everything.