It’s hard to write anything these days that’s not about COVID -19.
There are other stories in the offing, waiting to be told, but somehow when I begin to write about anything else, the words slide right through my fingers the way sand does when you try and pick it up.
It seems, at least for now, our current shared narrative winds its way back to the elephant in the living room, or in this case, the elephant in the world.
Every day, no matter how many socially distancing walks you take, or projects you tackle or courses you take, or shows you binge on, there it is, COVID, looming on the periphery of all life.
This week I felt a weariness begin to fray the edges of my days along with a kind of sulky defiance.
I’m getting mildly irritated with the onslaught of stories and posts on social media offering suggestions about how to weather this strangeness.
They are mostly the same, telling us to create something, make sure to have a schedule, use this time to be productive, don’t use this time to be productive, remember, we are in a pandemic!
Eat properly, boost your immune system and by the way here’s a plan to do that! Sign up now!
Be safe, wear a mask, don’t wear a mask, gloves are out, and might come back in, but never forget to wash your hands.
Did you wash your hands?
Like all double-edged swords, there is an upside, the eagerness and yearning we all have to connect and share on social media keeps me grounded. It’s also irresistible.
I find myself checking Facebook and Instagram almost every hour.
Am I missing something? What’s new? What is happening with COVID? What are the numbers? Are there any messages for me?
It’s like swimming with all your clothes on, the soggy weight draining any hope of buoyancy. The more I’m being shown posts of beautiful sunsets and encouraged to find a silver lining, the more I drift into a slurry of low-level anxiety, one that’s getting harder to pull out of, while at the same time becoming more familiar.
On another note, I realized the other day that for the first time in a very long time, I feel less an outsider and more in tune with the world at large. I think it’s because people are at home now like I usually am, facing the same challenges the self-employed are always faced with, only, of course, it ‘s not quite the same.
Partly because it is a pandemic after all, and partly because I’m an intuitive and my days, as a rule, are not the same as the crowd on any given day.
At the moment though, all of my musings belong to yesterday, right now, it’s just after midnight.
I write as I wait for the dough to rise for the bread I’ve taken to baking.
I won’t go be going to bed anytime soon.
There’s delicious freedom in this, the irritants of the day receding, the thread of anxiety that is constantly hovering, quiets.
Why is this I wonder?
Is it the knowledge that if I were to go outside right this minute the streets would be empty the way they used to be in the olden days?
Or is it that people are winding down, getting ready for bed or already asleep, our collective energies settling, gathering back in to reset for the next day?
Or is it the knowledge that nothing is expected of me right now, the urgings of the world have fallen silent, the pressure of managing the relentless underlying uncertainty slows, allowing me to just be me?
I don’t know, and tonight, I don’t care, I might be too tired.
I’m writing, I have baking to finish up, soon the house will be filled with the friendly, cozy smell of freshly baked bread.
I too will be heading to sleep, leaving tomorrow to itself to unfold as it will, and me to navigate whatever it brings in with the dawn.
