Thanked God I didn’t have to tell my children Tom Hanks had died.
Wore a lot of big earrings. Extended my loungewear collection beyond its already excessive levels. Maintained my lipstick schedule. Missed wearing suits.
Ordered flea treatment on a monthly subscription at 5am one day because it was an anxiety I could easily manage.
Considered decorating. Finally reorganised that cupboard and judged myself throughout for being so clichéd. Felt really good when it was over.
Gave thanks for JK Rowling.
Thought about writing a book but the only ideas I could think of would probably upset my loved ones.
Spent a while thinking about what the coolest pseudonyms are.
Burnt large candles in every room.
Listened to all the saddest songs from John Grant’s back catalogue and cried thinking about watching him on the Sunday at Green Man with Carl.
Cried a lot.
Laughed involuntarily when the ‘Boris Johnson tests positive for Coronavirus’ notification came up on my phone.
Cultivated my alcohol dependency. Same as everyone I guess. Doesn’t require any elaboration.
Drew many parallels between enduring a global pandemic lockdown and being a new mother. The suffocating, monotonous domesticity; the anxiety; the desire for life to go back to normal; the guilt about not making more of it.
Enjoyed music. Lewsberg, Bob Seger, MGMT, Prince, US Girls, Elvis.
Gave thanks for Nigella Lawson.
Worried every day about the global rise in domestic violence.
Bought staple grocery items at a more decadent price point than usual – butter, bread, booze.
Cooked elaborate breakfasts. Fried a shitload of eggs.
Missed being in a sweaty club with heavy bass. Missed being in a cramped bathroom with my friends and then complaining about it taking too long to get served at the bar. Missed restaurants.
Vowed never to regret another all-nighter.
Felt so lucky to have my job and the people I work with. Felt like I was doing an okay job.
Decided to get into gardening. After 37 years. Lol.
Planned all of the celebrations I’m going to organise when this is over. The Manchester night, the London night, the house party night, the night in. Thought about all the dinners and the Sunday lunches.
Bought those enormous pots of Greek yoghurt you see in the supermarket – the ones I always wonder how anyone manages to get through in 3 days.
Resented everyone who is in isolation with the person they love. Everyone who can have tea in bed and cocktail hour and sex and romantic dinners together whenever they want.
Appreciated my children more than ever and marvelled at their resilience. Spent more time with them than I have since they were 9 months old.
Gave thanks for Bob Mortimer.
Found solace in routine. Set my morning alarm, did 6pm Social drinks, did Pilates, documented the things I enjoyed that day and inflicted them on my Instagram followers.
Tried to set 2 children up on 6 different educational apps on inadequate devices while working.
Browsed Chromebooks on eBay for approximately 7 hours.
Acknowledged that I can’t read or watch anything new. Remembered that this has happened to me before and that eventually it passed. Rewatched stuff I know I love.
Admired the magnolia at the end of my garden.
Muted everything on WhatsApp.
Tried to remember that one day this will be over.
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