Sundays, reflection and self isolating,

Only saving grace about Sundays these days, is that having I’ve not slept enough Saturday night to know where my Saturday’s end and Sunday is in fact begining. This is really how my weeks are, it’s like one long day rolling on, .I rarely even see daylight living life quite like Rhubarb, ( it’s grown in darkness, but for candlelight) .

I’m coming up for nearly two years of confinement, first was as you may know for my safety, second is a mix of both long hauling and sheltering, last time I left the house at all was Christmas eve, then only to Lidl,s by cab, I don’t know about any body else?, but I know I now struggle to communicate these days, it’s almost like I’ve lost the ability, Never was a truer word said when we call it self isolating, because that is indeed what I’ve done,

The few times I have the odd visitor , I’m ok while we pass on pleasantries, how are you? , the weather, family etc then I become antsy , I struggle with things to say, . I get asked honey am, and I admit I do the British stiff upper lip thing, oh me of course I’m fine, inside i,m struggling with any number of long haul symptoms, but who wants to bore someone to death with that, …in the beginning I found the confinement hard and my mental health nosedived , I lived in one room rarely venturing out unless to use the bathroom,

A few times I tried standing outside in a little concrete walled walkway , that,s between my son’s flat and the viaduct, my nearest neighbours were a group of ex racing pigeons that had left their cozy pigeon lofts to revert to the wild, only greenery was the odd butterfly bush bravely sprouting Willy Nilly through wall,s or growing out of the bridge, it was very inspiring to stand outside there, and when people passed by I actually did feel un at ease, nervous, really 99 point 9 percent of my two years have been spent hidden away .

Since March last year to be honest, most of the time I’m indeed to sick or tired to bother, but occasionally I miss the heady days of my coffee shop and people watching, living alone gives much time for deep reflection , regrets and yes sometimes happier times , I long to walk , feel the sun upon my face, sir under the trees and write, listen to the humming drone of big fat bumble bee,s as they lazily make their way from flower to flower, I miss the mellow sweet songs of the Black bird, Chaffinches, and collared doves sounds like it’s asking who who? …

Now I rely on Netflix , Britbox like I suppose many of us do to get their fix of what once was real life … what is real life for us now? ..just faces half covered and fear in the eyes of passing folks , I have to wonder how are we to get back to normal life once This is over?, Will Mrs Jones down the road go and do her shop at the high street again, ? Or has online shopping become out new normal ? , will passing the time of day with each other return,? coffee with a neighbour? How will we go back almost in time to those days where we innocently, almost boredly went about life with each other ….

As I reflected on all this, I realized perhaps my life may never indeed return back to ” Normal” , I’m learning to live in this strange new world , of Covid 19 long hauling,Pain, isolation, a world that’s seems almost like I’m living in a science fiction novel, one that I have to write my own ending , And where in truth the me that was an old hippie, poet , lover of art , books may not fit in, but on living this weird Covid island like life, I learn an awful lot about me, us and moving on…..stay safe ,