Shopping anyone??

So was that it? The whole thing passed in a daze it seems.  And I didn’t learn another language, lose half a stone, pass any online courses or research my family tree. I did reach peak performance with buying many random things online though. I now have many new things in my house including a flowery phone cover with my name on it, a whole box of different body potions and lotions, multi-coloured tights that I wouldn’t be seen dead in, self-designed business cards, a new microwave and I have managed to send a box of macarons to a couple of very deserving people. Most things (except the macarons) reflecting varying degrees of boredom or rash decision-making based around the number of glasses of wine involved.

Mostly though, the torpor closed over my head and time slowed - each day nothing much changed. Looking back, the days all morph into each other and it feels as though I’m passing out of a shadowed tunnel, a kind of echoey dream. Day after tepid sunny day - the weather surreal and adding to the weird out-of-life-and-body experience that we have all been through.  Astounding spreading sunsets, fleeting bright sunrises and tidy still gardens held in suspended animation waiting for the winter that hasn’t come. And all of us waiting too in the strange silence.

Did we learn anything? All the self reflection, standing staring vacantly into the depths of the fridge, obsessive weeding of the garden and binging on Numbflix doesn’t really add up to much. Perhaps yours did - but mine not so much - I’m probably just shallow. 

I think the really hard yards for people who have been alone in uni- bubbles is something that has not been fully acknowledged. I know there has been a bit of throwaway talk about mental health website support and looking after “our elderly”. Really? It’s all so patronising and once over lightly. Who exactly are they talking about? Me?  

But of course it’s hilarious that with all the things we have to worry about as we emerge- the thing on everyone’s mind seems to be hair. It’s making your average bear as crazy as a snake and  knocking down the doors of the hairdressers is perfectly within the frame of normal. We should probably put bodyguards around the hairdressers as they file in to pick up their scissors.

And so everyone is up and at it - rushing to the cafes, waiting for the bars to open and looking for ways to travel in planes and on highways to end up somewhere else, anywhere but here. 

The black boots marching down Lambton Quay, the black skirts and blue suits and brown shoes up off the floor-robe where they have lurked for seven weeks along with the appointment diary. And the coffee machines hissing again. 

I don’t think I’m alone in saying I don’t really want to join in. I feel too exposed, too delicate, the life that has been going on inside my own head may not stand up to public scrutiny. I feel nostalgic for the hush - perhaps I’ll stay in bed today and ignore it. After all, for me it’s all the same and maybe this re-entry thing takes time- don’t they say, good things take time??