,
It really should be a no-brainer. After all, how difficult could it be? It’s only been a zillion or so hours since the
routine of 9 to 5 turned upside down. I
used to spend time with seven of my closest chums.
As with all relationships, there were the usual ups and downs.
Exuding bucket-loads of joy and abandon, the carefree and
playful ones were my favourite companions. The remainder of the crew were creatures of a
different genre, spirited workhorses that worshipped the toil of 24/7. I admired their passion, dedication to the
team. Deluded by their spell, I inadvertently
fell into their snare. Swamped and
overloaded, I didn’t stop producing until I came precariously close to dropping into the well of the unwell.
The only one of our bunch that was stuck in the middle and
straddled the bridge between us all was the camel. The hump.
Otherwise known as Wednesday.
But that was then and this is now.
I can’t even remember all of their names.
The countdown of life in quarantine had officially begun.
At first, it was a novel change of routine. Swapping suit and hose for slippers and
pyjamas. The frantic rush for the next bus
a distant memory. Squished like a
sardine with no room to breathe on the downtown train of hustle and bustle no
longer a part of my daily scene. And
let’s not forget coffee and spills on newly pressed Dolce, ruining my outfit of
exorbitantly priced Gabbana.
Were those really the good old days?
Saturday and Sunday were the stars of the show, raking in
accolades of praise. After all, they
promised an escape, an opportunity to kick back and indulge in cabernet. And who could argue with two entire days with
absolutely nothing to do?
Monday was the least appreciated member of the pack,
heralding a different sort of lockdown. A
five-day stint of working like a dog with a leash tied to my desk was not my
idea of fun. Tuesday fared a tad better,
scoring higher on the scale but nowhere near the cheers allocated to drum-roll
Thursday and Hallelujah Friday.
But that was then and this is now.
It’s been three long months and I’m no longer able to
distinguish Sunday from Monday. I’m
busier than ever. I’ve barely time for lounge
and Merlot. The days just blend into one
as I’m constantly on the run. My
calendar is jam-packed with an entirely new routine.
I wake with the crows, throw on my clothes and sprint to the
grocery store. I stand in line for hours upon hours, hoping to score that lone packet of yeast and one, just one, pleeeeese let it be there, container of anti-bacterial disinfecting wipes. But the shelves are bare and I just stare at
nothing there.
My new world requires a completely different set of
rituals: Don’t forget to wear your mask,
put on gloves, bring the wipes (that is, if you can find some) and measuring
tape to space out 2 metres between you and That Other Guy who isn’t wearing his
face covering.
The tables have turned and I’m still schlepping. Toilet paper, that is. Not luggage.
Dreaming of vacation.
And summer in Capri.
La dolce vita.
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| Dreaming of Capri |
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| How I miss schlepping luggage up and down stairs! |
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| My new reality |
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| Scribbling the days away... |
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