May have to change the title of this thing, already confusing because I can't get rid of previous title and they must have come up with Chelsea Joe. Jesus, do these people get paid?

Going to start referring to this insane period of the corona virus as  "the semi-end of the world," which should cover all bases. I  think I stand a pretty good chance of becoming a victim, not from the virus but the social distancing thing- not that I have anyone to distance nmyself from . It's just when you reach this age, especially if you're alone, you have half a dozen or so routines that keep the show going and mine have been pretty obliterated- things like swimming, guitar lessons. I'ver mostly filled in these spaces with getting stoned but it occurred to me that if for some insane reason I wanted to continue this fucker, I'd have to go so far back in time to make anything I've sad about now meaningful  that it would become a fucking autobiography. Living through my life was punishment enough that I somehow survived. But writing about my mother throwing my Teddy bear in the garbage to explain my psychotic behavior? No way. Got some new green stuff, want to try it again before going to bed. Possible I will be back tonight but don't bet on it.