Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Saturday. Saturday? No, wait. It's Thursday.  No, that's not right, either. It's Wednesday.

I'm sorry. I forgot what day it is. Which has been a major problem lately. Yeah, five months of "batten down the hatches" will do that to you.

"Well, Bob" I said to myself. "Might as well get used to it. You've got at least five more months of the same."

Covid-wise, nothing has changed since Day One. Not for the better, anyway. It's still out there. News reports say Covid has become easier to transmit, and just as, if not even more deadly than it used to be.

But today, thank goodness,  I read an encouraging piece of news: the vast majority of deaths occur in those 50 years old and older. Now, if I'm 70, what does that portend for me?

Hint: I looked in the mirror and saw a big bullseye on my back.

Yep. I'm staying right here, hiding underneath my rock, where I've been since March. Give me a call when a safe and effective vaccine becomes available. Until then, my 70-year-old butt is lying low.