As the clouds of malaise are paling and the fear of not having enough toilet paper this March as opposed to last, makes if feel like there is more definition to the days of the week. We are trying to normalize things we never expected to face in the form of acceptance. In 12 step fashion we are trying to “accept the things we cannot change, and add the courage to know the difference.” Now the “the locusts are coming, the locusts are coming” in drove like fashion after 17 years. Just one more emblematic example of how strange the past year has been. As social media pulls up pictures couched as memories, the picture attached below popped up. A visual of the early landscape of our youth. The epitome of our innocence, a blank slate, formidable and eager for definition. A perfect pop and a divine, “mighty, mighty Indians” moment, that has lasted our whole life long. I know run on sentence counters, I know. Last night finally felt like Saturday night. The tone of stay up late, watch Saturday Night Live and dream about the bagel and… on Sunday morning. I don’t know about you but this past year for us has felt as if there were no more weeks or weekends. The articulation of time within each day has become more specific and eloquent than ever before. We have traded the week for the architecture of the hours. We are now feeling like we are getting out of rehab, standing on our own two, well planted in the ground feet and perhaps not sprinting, but with a steady, more familiar gait getting out of our own way. So just for today, add extra cream cheese, hug your loved ones a little tighter and while you are planning what your Chinese food dinner will be- turn the beat around and Vicki Sue Robinson your way to safer territory.