My pen holds to the indelible black of a benign entreaty. My words idle under quarantine, pinned to the surface of my brain like Rorschach butterflies. I want to write but this headache would prefer that I abandon articulation. At 3 pm I am taking Isadora to the theater. I try to do something special with her every weekend. During the cultural festival a few weeks ago she saw a play and she loved it. She is very well-behaved during movies and performances so I am hoping that I can relax. Feel free to hiss and boo but I do not enjoy theater for children when the actors are adults. Children are adorable so I can’t help but smile but adults wearing costumes and speaking in baby voices well and truly freaks me out. I liked the college students dressed as Alice and Wonderland characters because they spoke absurdly but in normal voices. I am not against adults being silly, I am silly, it’s just when they pretend to be children. I can be awkwardly serious sometimes.