We had a minor supplying crisis yesterday when I had to tell Michael no, I couldn’t bake blueberry muffins because we have no baking powder. He was all for going out (for the second time that day) and getting some until I reminded him Le Beau and Chico’s are closed these days on Sundays. Michael isn’t usually that insistent. The poor man wanted his muffins.

Staying inside makes you aware of mental habits you barely notice in normal times. For instance, this morning, as I settled down in front of my computer with my coffee, I felt that brief stab of anxiety I have always felt on Monday morning about the Friday night movie. “Do I have the copy?” Before the pandemic, this meant that as soon as I got into work in the afternoon, I would reassure myself by going through the DVDs on my desk, putting my hands on the movie, and sighing with relief.

Now, of course, it’s not up to me to obtain a copy, so the next little gouge in my chest is about the book event on Thursday. Daniel Mason will be talking with Carol Edgarian about his new short story collection. “Should I go pick up the copies at Alexander Book Company?” I ask myself, and of course the answer is “no.” I’m not going to be trundling a cart across Market Street for a box of books.

“Oh.” My inner self sounds disappointed.

“Ah, but is the zoom set up?” Another little knife pricks me.

Some part of Jinx plainly delights in torturing me.