It is early Monday morning, an hour before my alarm will erupt. Lots of streams of (semi-) consciousness running through my head.

It looks like our biennial lab accreditation inspection will be this Friday. Because of COVID the inspection is a scheduled affair this year–not the surprise drop-in it usually is. That relieves some uncertainty, but not the apprehension that inspections always bring–even though we will come through with just a few small bookkeeping type deficiencies (all inspectors find one or two) and no problems with reaccreditation.  And I remember that I need to apply for a Wisconsin license, we may start getting specimens from there.

I am also thinking about our new test to detect the causes of chronic urinary tract infections. We will launch this week, and I have been writing and rewriting the announcement e-mail blast, worrying over every word and image. We first decided we were going to do this a year ago, and if not for COVID it would have been ready for primetime four months ago. But the supply chain hassles, the workarounds, the little trip-ups, have been nonstop. Cheers to the team for finally getting here.

Moving my limbs under the sheets I can feel the achiness and stiffness from running a modified 5K with the kids yesterday. It was for SeaBlue (prostate cancer support, education, advocacy) and we ran in our neighborhood as a replacement for the annual Lincoln Park race, another COVID casualty. It was a treat running with Mike and Laury, even if we weren’t wearing numbers on our chest. I have the satisfaction of knowing I ran, and also raised some dollars for the cause. If you would like to contribute, donations are still accepted at  https://ustoo.rallybound.org/SEABlue2020/LesforProstate.

My arms should loosen up by tonight. My indoor tennis league begins. Lots of social distancing rules, no fist bumps, or high fives. Life, or a form of it, continues.

The fourth quarter of the Bear’s game runs through my head. Not indicative of much, except that the Lion’s are a bad team, but amazing none-the-less. Barb, who has no interest in professional sports, sums it up best. “Just like an episode of Friday Night Lights.” But without the angst of Coach Taylor.

I’ll get out of bed and turn on the television in a few minutes. These days I turn on the news with trepidation. Is the world still there? The weekend has been filled with the fallout of the Trump/Woodward tapes, all presented as if it were a dichotomy–tell the truth and panic the country, or stay mum and doom the country. The obvious choice of honesty with a plan is ignored. I am not sure which is now greater, my fury, or my fear.

And so the week begins…

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