Another Charlie Mackesy today.

Over all, I’m holding up pretty well during this pandemic, but there’re more than a few days, like today, where words, or at least the sentiments to which they give shape, are best left to quietly kick rocks in the part of my brain that prevents me from swearing in front of my mother.

Today, I’m worried, tired, bereft. I have disliked the past 24 hours with a depth and intensity that, frankly, I feel privileged to have experienced.

But tomorrow, I’m assured, is another day, and it’s not lost on me how fortunate I am to get another try.