The Fluffbucket Diaries

A murder hornet? Now 2020 is just showing off.

Things I’ve ordered that are supposed to arrive this week:

3 face masks
2 sets of postage stamps
A copy of “The Essential Rosary” by Caryll Houselander
2 graphic novels for Frannie
Moomins T-shirt for me
Animal Crossing shirt for Frannie
A pulse oximeter

Who says impulse shopping is dead?

The tween insisted on making the dough for tomorrow’s bread before bedtime.

I did this week’s big household grocery run. I used to enjoy grocery runs. Now they’re stressful and depressing. (And it didn’t help to wear a mask that I could barely breathe through.) Glad it’s done, though.

Reasons why I mute or unfollow people on social media:

Excessive political or religious zeal.
Excessive self-promotion.
Excessive promotion of offspring cuteness and/or genius.

I have been guilty of all of these things at one point or another, particularly the excessive promotion of offspring. As it increasingly annoys me elsewhere, and I am generally annoyed with excessive social media usage these days, I am especially conscious of all of these tendencies in myself and try to avoid them.

God forgive me for straying in these respects online. I have enough problems with the sin of pride without broadcasting them on the Internet.

I’m not sure I agree with Jason Kottke’s thought that 1984 was “perhaps mass pop culture’s high tide,” but I appreciate the college flashbacks from this mashup of 1984’s highest-charting songs.

I only checked news sites once today. And it felt great.

A problem I never thought I’d have to deal with: ordering face masks from several different Etsy sellers until I find one that fits.

Former Chargers coach Harland Svare has died. I only remember him because my father spit out his name during a Chargers game; it was the first time I recall hearing my father swear.

Finally sent a letter and check in the mail that was long overdue. It marks the end of an era from which I have desperately needed to move on. I am feeling very liberated right now.

Under my desk—also known as Winslow’s personal thunderstorm bunker.

I always appreciate it when people of color tell woke white people to calm the f–k down. Case in point: A “Karen” of color says no, the meming of “Karen” is not sexist or racist.

Finally, an outlet for all my sonnets about Chalupa Supremes.

There’s a Facebook group dedicated to “news and comments” about our town. The husband loves it. I glance at it for tidbits of news. If I look any closer, like I did just now, I find too many reasons to steer clear of my neighbors and wonder why I live here.

“The Gathering of the Juggalos’ collapse conjures something else—the crisis’s disruption of subcultures for which belonging and togetherness can’t be taken for granted.”

The latest retail shortage: sympathy cards.

“It makes me sick in my heart, every order that comes in,” said one Etsy seller who has sold more than 275 sympathy cards this month.

Illinois has had its governance problems, yes. But pointing them out the way the “president” just did isn’t leadership. It’s being an asshole.

Slowly going insane.

The Animal Crossing camper is starting to look too much like my real-life environs.