when in the midst of a pandemic.

Update your blog.

Write write write.

Think about all the things you’ve been meaning to do and then maybe actually do one or two of them. Continue putting off the rest.

Remind yourself of all the things that would be worse.

Reflect on how, often, you don’t go out that much anyway. After all, it’s hard to justify paying £5.50 for a pint when you could have a tin at home for less than half the price.

Think about how it’s 2020 and what that would symbolise if a pandemic happened in a film in the year 2020. Have some vision, people. Think of all the lessons that will be learned – in hindsight. Full knowing that eventually, a film will be made about everything going on right now and 20/20 will have very little to do with it. 5G, perhaps.

Day x of quarantine and insert ridiculous sounding thing here. Today, we had jacket potatoes and salad for dinner. I put on jeans for 40 minutes. We laughed about how we keep forgetting that it’s our wedding anniversary. We sat in the garden in the sunshine, working on a crossword at lunch. It’s surreal; it’s completely normal.

After thoughtlessly pushing open a gate that who knows how many people have touched before me, I talked about how my hands feel like weapons. He pointed out that hands are always weapons. 1d4+2. Necrotic damage now though, I add. Thoughts of our ‘strong hand cream’ conversation from the previous evening.

Getting groceries today felt like an accomplishment. And a huge risk. A large bag of rice is sitting in the relatively unused second bedroom right now until it’s safe to touch. A bottle of squash is in a corner on the counter. We don’t know who’s touched it. So we’re not touching it. Yet.

I sang the chorus from Mr. Brightside this afternoon when washing my hands in hopes it would help somehow (I’m not convinced it did).

In the meanwhile, everything else still happens. I work my 9-5. The sun continues its circumambulatory routine. We brush our teeth. The post is delivered. We drink as much tea as we usually do. And moisturise our hands perhaps a bit more often.