I started this blog with the best of intentions, and it’s been… five entries in a bit over a month? Well, it’s about par with all my other attempts at running a blog to be fair.
The thing I pretty much knew in my mind, but not quite in my soul, is that a lot of “living through history” is very boring. Particularly this chapter of history.
Now I’m, not saying that essential workers and healthcare people and reporters and everyone are going to feel the same way – they’re probably not. But the whole point of the lockdown was for nonessential schlubs like me to stay the fuck at home. While I might be less at home than in a bunker, I have been alone for five weeks, days no longer mean anything, and I’ve only broken the rules once to go for a swim. (It wasn’t putting anyone else at risk – the lake is so low that I couldn’t swim out of my depth before I got tired and turned back.)
Basically, I have done what was asked of me. And nothing more. Unfortunately, that nothing more includes lockdown exercising, autumn cleaning, cooking meals that weren’t pasta, and blogging.
As we move into level three, I have to figure out what I’m going to do. I’m not looking to rush back to Auckland where my bubble will shrink from a small house to a medium-sized room, but my mother wants me to go south, and I don’t fancy that either. It’s not just because I only have one pair of jeans with me, though that’s part of it.
If I’ve learned anything from the past howevermany days it’s that I like space. And while the lack of other humans is starting to get to even me, I’m not sure I like people quite enough to want to go back to society yet.
Luckily, I don’t have to rush to any decisions. I don’t have to rush to anything. The world isn’t getting any more unfucked in a hurry, so I might as well just keep waiting this one out.
Oh, and editing my masters. Still doing that. I even have a printer now.
Image Credit:
Mink Mingle