This is the last day of my Corona Diary and I have mixed feelings. I’ve enjoyed writing these, but I’ve also discovered a new level of laziness during this whole lockdown and this has added one more “to-do” at the end of my day when I could be completely checked out, watching horrible TV as every fiber in my being demands I do.

This whole experience has made me think, though, about this book I have. It’s in my pajama drawer (Yes, I have a whole drawer of pajamas — I’ve been working from home off and on since 2003, so pants WITH waistbands are actually more of an anomaly in my wardrobe).

Anyhow, it’s a little green book with a horse on it and has a crappy little lock that’s never really worked. It’s my first diary, from when I was about eight. It basically consists of overly flowery, and very LARGE cursive writing that flows all over the page and details all the reasons that my brother was a gross human being and that it was inhumane that I had to share a room with him or that he was allowed to talk to anyone I knew. I showed it to Avery last year and she was fascinated. The whole concept that her mother WAS eight years old at one time in history seemed inconceivable, but here she held actual proof in her hands!

The diary is goofy and doesn’t include anything resembling a single deep thought, but it’s a treasured possession. It’s basically a little time capsule. Sure, I have photos of me with the horrible haircuts and socks pulled up to my knees, but that book is the only recording of my thoughts and feelings from my childhood. Yes, they were simple, but at the time I remember how grown up I felt recording them for posterity.

Here, again, in this diary I’ve written about goofy stuff, no real deep thoughts, but this time that was by choice.

Years from now, there’s going to be endless records of how tough this time was for the world. Personally, I know I’ll never be able to forget how I felt watching the death toll climb each day, terrified for the ones I love, watching the world shut down around me. But when I look back, I want to make sure I remember the goofy things too — the things that amused me, like rowing in a muumuu, that crazy story my daughter told, my husband being goofy, that lady hugging a tree. I want to remember that some things — the best things — were still great.

My original thought for my last writeup was going to be a list of (hopefully) funny things I’ve learned during this whole thing, but then I sat down and this came out instead. I’ll probably still write the list, because it amuses me, but I’d also like to encourage anyone reading this to maybe write something as well.

We’re living through a pretty crazy period in history right now and by writing out your thoughts and feelings — in addition to being an awesome mental health activity— you will be creating your own little time capsule of your experience living through it, something no one else can create.

Or, you know, “Too Hot to Handle” is good too.

Thanks for reading y’all. Stay safe and sane out there.