Well it has finally happened. I have become bored enough to write. There. How's that for admitting two distasteful and unflattering sentiments right up front. Part of it is, I suppose, the feeling that I don't have much to write about. That in itself is a blessing - this is not a year where you want to have war stories. To lay low and hope to emerge, ideally in one piece, at the end of it seems a logical approach.
Neal is back working at the printing warehouse for a 6 week stint. He's working 12 hour shifts, and enjoying being back with his friends and working and (please oh please for the love of everything dear on earth and in the heavens above) not catching Covid. (There are a lot of protocols in place - masks, visors, temperature taking - it is a big warehouse and he is not near others - but still). For the first few weeks I enjoyed having the time alone but it's starting to flag. For all you who are managing this living alone I salute you. You are amazing. Keep going. Hang in there. (And tell me - is it normal to talk to yourself quite a lot? Do you also answer? When should you start to worry?)
We're in another lockdown as well so it is very quiet in my life. Work is also quiet (locking down is much less labour intensive than opening up it turns out. We've gotten better at it). I think in the first lockdown, I was knackered, and the rest did me good. Now I have probably never been so rested in my life, infancy included. All that energy has to go somewhere, and if I don't get rid of it in the day it starts hammering around in my brain and that is not a good thing. So I've been covering a lot of ground - on my bike, running, long walks. It's exhausting, but it's working.
And there are worse places to be out and about...
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| A hawthorn tree on the sea creek |
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| Seasalter at high tide |
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| The path home alongside the creek in an impossibly early sunset |
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