Last night I drank beer from a can with the word death and a skull on it. So I had a good night. I was able to write a rough draft of an idea for my new book that I’m happy with. It’s an ambitious idea and it scares me, but if it’s not tough, then it’s not worth doing, right? Unfortunately, I had to wake up feeling like death this morning to get there.

Florida reported over 15,000 confirmed coronavirus cases on Sunday, and the US is on track to record over 200,000 deaths by election day. Confirmed cases of the virus in my county have more than doubled since the beginning of July, and I continue to see people at stores without masks on. Our school conducted a survey asking our staff whether masks should be required when or if school resumes, and almost half of the staff say it’s not required. I saw this picture in a story I read in the New York Times that broke me. I read another article that described the US as the world’s largest experiment in herd immunity. I found out today that a former friend’s mom died a few nights ago.

I feel helpless. What does it say about me that I find so much relief in a liquid housed in a can with a skull and the word death on it?