I know I haven't been keeping up with posting. Sometimes I feel like there's nothing to say, and sometimes I feel too shell-shocked to say anything.
Three days ago, I rode my bike out to a local poultry farm over in Hatfield, hoping to get some eggs. They were sold out. "Sold out? How can you be sold out?"
"Look, chickens aren't magical, you know, it's not like you can just wish up some eggs from 'em."
And so I tried riding down to Merrymead, the dairy. It isn't far from town--in fact, it's halfway between my place and my parents down in Worcester. There was a line when I got there--people are panic-buying, hoarding whatever food they can. I admit, I'm trying to do that too, but you can't really hoard dairy or eggs--they go bad quickly.
"Half-gallon of 2%, please."
I didn't know what to say.
"Look, you wanna go somewhere else? They'll probably charge you ten."
"For a half-gallon?"
"You think it's cheap to run a farm?"
I know how expensive it can be, though not in the sense they mean.
A few tomatoes and squash had started coming in two days ago--small, of course, not ripe yet.
Yesterday morning, they were gone. Picked off, presumably eaten.
This is my food. I planted it, I'm going to harvest it.
So I got a shotgun. I just want to scare the thieves, I don't want to shoot them. I can't really blame anyone who's hungry for stealing, but they're taking food out of our mouthes.
So tonight, I'm sleeping on a cot in the mudroom. I've hooked up the motion sensors, and if they go off, I'll be right there to scare them away.
You know, I'm not anti-gun, but I've never wanted to own one. At least not until now.
God, I just wish this would be over.
In other news, I haven't heard from Kate for a couple of days. I don't like it--I don't know what's going on with her right now, and I'm worried. I offered her the spare bedroom, but she still won't take it.
I just don't know what to do.