Shelter-in-Place Day 10

I might as well document the look of the painted living room wall. Take it from me, it's much better than it was before, when it was full of clutter and an ugly splotchy dark green. The peregrine painting is from my birth dad. Moira is drinking water at the edge of the scene.

What does it say that we have a Burne-Jones print and a RoboCop diarama in the same cabinet? 

That D. and I live here. That's what it means. 

The days are indeed starting to blur. But tomorrow is a weekend, so D. will be home. The rain is coming. I've done some weeding and watched the smaller hive do a dry run of a swarm. I tried to identify the emotions I was feeling while I waited to see if they were really going to leave, and while I prayed they wouldn't head east, into the yard of the neighbors I don't know, whose house sports a thin blue line flag, like this one:

I think the primary emotion was resignation, with some kind of stoic support underneath it. The same emotions that I feel about the shelter-in-place - although in that case they're under a whole lot of guilt-tinged happiness about being home and relief that I have a federal and state-mandated excuse not to socialize.