One year to the day and I had a sixth sense that it was just that
I just terrified myself by realising that I wrote this one year ago to the day.
Honestly I feel like I wrote these journal entries a couple of weeks ago. Which is perhaps testament to how each month in a pandemic is violently different to the last or the next; and how we manage to normalise a lot of stuff, very quickly.
Most of the strange things I note down in one of the three notebooks I have on my desk are to do with time and how some days are SO long, some are so crispy and sunny and some are filled with such a lack of decision-making skills that it’s embarrassing.
All of the above is word-for-word BTW. These notebooks are to stop me publishing too much rubbish on Medium etc.
What brought me here today? Well I read this on Substack this morning and the mention of men being the people who shout for things in hospital just inspired me (lol) — I guess that means I’m in a similar emotional state to that of December 2020. Ridiculous, frivolous, silly, serious. It’s also demonstrative of my fascination with what can happen in different timeframes for people and how whole stories are beginning, happening and ending with far fewer observers or participants/characters than two years ago.
We are faced with creating a new life routine that works within and around the control and management of a mutating virus — so I guess that’s going to take some…time.
It seems that the end of a year is the end of a chunky chapter and leads one to think forward (if even for a moment) and I for one am obsessed with using December as a way to organise what the hell happened.
If nothing else this month, considering how time passes is worth a moment of ours IMO.
