Lockdown Diary: Day Seven.

Today was the day I went into the wall. Felt physically weak and emotionally drained. The Blitz spirit voice in me says this is a shocking dereliction of duty. But I’m getting anecdotal reports from friends and friends of friends that they are having a bit of exhaustion and a bit of a weep and a bit of a blank, so at least I am not alone. I think perhaps it’s because we humans are social animals, and being set apart from the warmth of laughter and camaraderie and affection takes a toll. The internet is miraculous, but it’s not the same. The internet can’t hug you.

I have a very wise friend who lives half way across the world. She coined a brilliant word which I use a lot. It is uncomfortability. She is an expert in psychology and she says that sometimes you have to sit in the uncomfortability. Not fight it or try to fix it or apologise for it or feel ashamed of it. Just sit with it. Accept it for what it is, accept that you are a flawed human being, accept that every day can’t be Doris Day. And then the stuffed up feelings will flow through you and move on.

So that’s what I’m doing today. 

I suspect you can sense the uncomfortability, because I don’t even have the capacity to write well today. I’m giving you raw fragments of sentences and not thinking about sending my prose out with a swing and a swagger. There’s no point putting on a shiny front. There will be some crappy days, and that’s sort of all right. Perhaps it’s even part of the adjustment process. This is a very, very new and very, very strange reality, and it’s not going to feel normal with a mere snap of the fingers. It will take time. 

PS. I can’t leave you on that doomy note. The whole point of this was to try and send a little bit of joy out into a mad world. And even on the crappy days, there is always a little bit of joy. One of my oldest and dearest friends, one of those ones who makes life better and brighter just by being herself, went out into her garden today and picked a basket of narcissi. She sent me a picture, and it was almost as if the little beauties had arrived at my own door. What can spring flowers matter at such a time? Yet, I think they do matter. I think all the inessentials do matter. Tiny arrows of whimsy and frivolity flying through the air, reminding all of us that however dark today seems, tomorrow the light will come again.

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