My mattress on the floor, the bed frame disassembled and bundled in preparation for moving. Sunlight filtering in through the horizontal blinds. Birdsong, layers and layers of birdsong, gulls and sparrows and starlings and the distant crawk of a great blue heron.

While grinding coffee by hand, I walk through the maze of moving totes to my Juliet balcony. My thyme plant bushy this year, in its terra cotta pot. A woman jogging past on her way to the park.

The mania passed a day later.

“You’re moving,” Russell says after I tell him about my mental state. “Moving is stressful at the best of times. And, you’re moving in with someone. And you’ve been working at home alone for a year. Your job has put a lot of pressure on you in the last year. How many projects are you managing at the moment? Last time you told me it was over a dozen. Add on the weather is so hot that we aren’t sleeping well. You haven’t hugged your mother since last February. The rising case numbers are unnerving. It’s a lot.”

“We’ll monitor this,” he says, “and I really do think it will pass once we’ve settled into the new place.”

Hours later, the government announces eligibility for a first vaccination dose for my age group.

I scramble onto my computer and open tabs for three different pharmacies, loading up the booking pages. Simultaneously, I phone the Mom ‘n Pop pharmacy a block away that has no booking portal.

Wait list. Answering machine. Wait list.

I got one for next Tuesday! Russell messages.

A moment later, I refresh the booking page for a pharmacy three blocks away. A slot appears for 2pm on Friday. I frantically click and fill out the form. Submit.

Wait.

Confirmed.