inject that disinfectant
Thursday, April 23 2020
It was an unseasonably cold day today, which was made really clear to me when, just to get out of the house, I went for a walk on the Farm Road this evening. I was wearing the winter coat I usually only wear during the coldest months of the year, and then only when walking in the forest. But my bare hands were exposed to the air, which was cold enough to be somewhat painful.
For months now, Gretchen has been pressuring me to advocate for a pay raise in my workplace. Alex had told me months ago that I would be getting such a raise, but the head honcho tends to drag his feet on things like raises (indeed, in the absence of self-advocation, one can go years in this company without getting a raise). A couple days ago, Gretchen actually wrote an email for me to copy and paste into an email to the head honcho applying more pressure for that raise. But these days I'm not feeling particularly good at my job, so it's hard for me to fake the kind of verve I would need to ask for a raise. Tonight after drinking some booze and taking a xanax, I was finally in a mood where I could lay out to Gretchen what my problem was. I told her that I don't feel particularly good at my job. This is partly a consequence, I explained, of the fact that my job isn't well-defined right now. But it's also because I'm working remotely since the most society-crippling pandemics of modern times. Gretchen thinks I'm amazing at what I do and compared my self-appraisal to body dysmorphia. What if, she asked, she proclaimed herself obese? But she also got what I was saying, and it ended up being a very constructive conversation.
Meanwhile, in his ongoing shambolic response to the coronavirus pandemic, tonight Donald Trump floated the idea that people inject (or otherwise introduce into their bodies) disinfectant to fight the virus, since those work so well killing the virus outside the body. At first I thought it was satire, but it wasn't.
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