Apr 17, 2020: Twenty-Eight

I thought we were under attack this morning, or maybe having a small earthquake. There was a lot of rumbling from upstairs. And I was downstairs, so I knew it wasn’t me.

What it was, though, was Carole on a five-minutes away from her desk activity drive moving everything around in the bedroom so that she could get into all sixteen cubes of the storage unit that holds all her crafting supplies.

You know what that means, right?

The next three weeks of lockdown are going to be spent going to bed with corners of card stuck to the bottoms of our feet which, when released during sleep, will suddenly become the absolute sharpest things on earth and wake us up.

Or we’ll find ourselves just ever so slightly taller. Not lots. Mere millimetres, in fact. Why, you ask? Sticky foam pads, my friends. Sticky foam pads. The easiest thing to drop onto the floor where they will stick to the carpet and refuse to move when you try to pull them up, but walk on them and – poof – they release, just like that. For a more impressive trick, go near them in socks. The upper glue – the stuff not attached to the carpet – has a higher affinity for sock than anything else and it will be pulled to the sock even if there is not direct contact. Like crafting osmosis or something.

There will also be, I can feel it in my waters, a lot of pieces of paper with chalked edges.

Possibly the story of lockdown in scrapbook form.

The possibilities are endless, as they say.

Whatever happens, most of it will find its way into the bed, shoes, the washing machine…