I know so many of us have lost count like I have on the number of days we have been living, working and entertaining at home. I was on a Zoom happy hour and someone said it was 8 weeks. I don’t think it has been that long, but I honestly don’t know. Maybe 6 weeks? My brain has gone limp, and it no longer is able to process time the way it used to. Now, the measurements are not in days or weeks, but my time is now tracked by meals.  These days I yell to Ella from across the hallway to remind her of the awesome something or other that we made for dinner the other day, week or month. I’m also paying attention to the news threatening a meat shortage.  This is what I have turned into in just 6 or 8 weeks.

I also have renewed my addiction for weeding and rap music. It seems that one cannot exist without the other. For the past couple meal cycles, I have been tackling parts of my yard and my weed problem. I do get a bunch of gratification from ripping, tearing, pulling and digging these strong invasive nuisances from the earth. However, when you have Snoop Dogg and all of his friends on Pandora playing, it is heaven.  The weeds are no longer weeds, they become muthafu!@%ing bitches! And I realize that my love for rap makes so much sense, as I love the word play, cursing, and channeled anger.

Unfortunately, my love for rap has bled unto my daughter and I found her listening to Eminem in her room. Her only question, ” Mom, why is he so angry?” I tried to explain he was just a po white boy who had a bad mamma. I tried to expound to describe that rap is form a blues, but spoken and angry. I don’t think she understood, so I invited her to a Zoom meeting for further clarification.

I was a little concerned my daughter was listening to rap, because I do understand women are depicted often in a terrible manner.  However, I  think it is because rappers have watched one too many porn videos and it’s played out in the music to perhaps enhance masculinity. Nonetheless, I wholeheartedly believe in the average rapper’s home, the woman is calling the shots. I mean, Snoop cooks with Martha when he isn’t out being a gangsta.

My point, I have none, but I’m not certain I am documenting this time as I should. When Ella looks back on this period of time I am a little concerned. What she will remember, tell her children, and how I will be depicted? I am curious of how this will all shake out in the end. Until then, I will continue be in my yard and garden with my weed(s) and my muthaf!@%&#ing hoes.