If it was Monday, it would be Blue Monday. It may well be… I’ve started to lose track of which day is which and feeling rising anxiety about how I’ll be able to tell if it’s the weekend or not.
I’m not a cryer – the opposite in fact – but today there were tears. I can’t really explain it: some sort of unhappy cocktail of claustrophobia, worry, surprise and regret (all those plans and expectations wasted). It’s complicated and I’m sure that later clever people will make careers on the study of the corona months.
Here’s what I’ve learned in the past 24 hours.
Exams don’t really matter after all. Two weeks ago, they did. A lot. Now they’ve been cancelled. Who knows what it means for Boy Two’s anticipated university career. Or anyone else’s for that matter.
TicTok is creative. Or at least I hope it is. Boy Three has been making some videos involving drums, strobe lights and odd coloured filters. He’s having fun and, right now, a new (to me) social media platform is quite low down the to-worry-about list especially as the child has never been more closely supervised.
The stars don’t care. Last night was cloudless clear when I strode alone from the house. Orion’s Belt, Sirius and the Ursas all there, where I left them, along with all the other constellations I never got round to learning. As familiar to us as they were to survivors of all the other great and greater dramas, wars and plagues. Comforting? Not so much.
Thinking doesn’t help much. The thought went like this – if everything can change beyond imagination in a couple of weeks, then what other unimaginables are in store in the next chapter?
Carlisle has a Victorian bath. A bit of a random thing to learn in a Renfrewshire back lane, especially shouted from a plus 3m distance. Boy Three and I made a break for it this afternoon while the sun shone to get some exercise. On our march, we met a pal whose parents live quite close to SuperGran in Cumbria. As we were both under quarantine rules, we yelled at each other.