I made a big dent in my desk pile yesterday--finished a chapter, finished a blurb--plus I managed to bake bread, clean some floors, water the garden. In the afternoon a big fancy package arrived in the mail for Paul: a graduation gift from Bennington College . . . his mortarboard, mementos from campus, special cookies. It was all very sweet and sentimental, and he loved it. His college has been so good to him.

On May 30 he will "graduate," and it's impossible to know what will happen next. He can't get a job. Most of the internships he applied for are canceled or on hold. I get sad and anxious for him, and for everyone else in his cohort. Meanwhile, I listen to their voices on Zoom and hear them laughing and sputtering and complaining and cooing over each other's pets. Like the rest of us, they zig and they zag.

This morning I have my yoga class; then I'll go back to editing, and eventually start reading residency applications. I'm feeling a little lonesome, wishing I could sit on my couch with a cup of tea and my mother. She's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine . . . but nobody is.