Of the journal I mean. It's now 22 March 2020, and I'm not quite sure how we'd classify which Day we're in now. Possibly something like Day 150?
I read an article this morning by an astronaut called I Spent a Year in Space, and I Have Tips on Isolation to Share, and one of them was to keep a journal, so, here we go.
It's Sunday. I've spent a week or so at home. Sure, I've popped out to the shops nearby, and wondered if my things are necessary enough to do it. I did sneak to La Fromagerie for some good cheese and I'd read somewhere cured meat keeps for ages so I got some of that too. Actually, I've been eating very well. Perhaps not enough veg, but I can work on that. It is always a bit tricky to cook efficiently for one (unless you're British megastar cook, Delia Smith, for whom One is Fun), and I just ate the last of Tuesday's gigantic beast of a lasagne (apart from the bit I froze - who knows what will happen to that).
I popped to the grocer two days ago. Picked up a bag of oranges and a cucumber because they felt like security, and went to queue. There was a weird queue split between me (there longer) and a young woman on her phone. The queue was moving very slowly and it was crowded and I was nervous about the queue-frontation, so I put down the cucumber and went outside and put down the oranges and left.
This morning I put on some perfume for the first time in a while. If I'm out and about, I usually wear it every day, so this was a treat just for me, I guess.
Time is very strange. I can't tell how long this week has been. Everything is warped.
I pumped up the tires on my bike -- which I would do when spring emerges from winter anyway -- and went to Victoria Park. I met up at a distance with my friend, Lynsey, who is Scottish, and who gave me a lovely small wheel of halloumi, which I shall look forward to. It was relieving to be out and about and in the sun. The park started getting pretty crowded though, so we left with a promise to meet again (perhaps with a thermos next time).
I think what I'll do is try to have a good, working schedule during the week. Wake around 07:30, yoga, shower, dress, breakfast. Start work at 09:30. Daily check in with Charlie. I'd thought I might interrupt the day with a row. I have a cheap rowing machine which was gathering dust but is no longer. I'd forgotten how strenuous it is. It'll be good to do that. On weekends I won't set the alarm. That's about the extent of the distinction for now.
Every now and again it dawns on me my life might be like this for months and I cry a little bit. I'm far away from my immediate family, but that's been my life for about 16 years now. But, this is a bit different because we're freshly, definitely vulnerable in a new way, and very far and it's hard and likely dangerous to travel, I presume. I don't want to think too much about things going wrong on that front.
I'm also trying to read more, but my attention span is broken. I have learned of the Japanese art of 積ん読 (Tsundoku), where one accretes possible reading material, letting them pile up, ready to read later. Unbeknownst to me, I was named informal middle-aged female world champion about three months ago, and haven't stopped.
I'll try to write each day, but no promises! Although I suspect making stuff you need to get done each day will help it feel a little less like prison. Or possibly more. Let's see. It'll be nice to share my thoughts a bit. I suspect this is going to get lonely and strange, even though we'll also figure out gradually how we can connect with each other.
I read an article this morning by an astronaut called I Spent a Year in Space, and I Have Tips on Isolation to Share, and one of them was to keep a journal, so, here we go.
It's Sunday. I've spent a week or so at home. Sure, I've popped out to the shops nearby, and wondered if my things are necessary enough to do it. I did sneak to La Fromagerie for some good cheese and I'd read somewhere cured meat keeps for ages so I got some of that too. Actually, I've been eating very well. Perhaps not enough veg, but I can work on that. It is always a bit tricky to cook efficiently for one (unless you're British megastar cook, Delia Smith, for whom One is Fun), and I just ate the last of Tuesday's gigantic beast of a lasagne (apart from the bit I froze - who knows what will happen to that).
I popped to the grocer two days ago. Picked up a bag of oranges and a cucumber because they felt like security, and went to queue. There was a weird queue split between me (there longer) and a young woman on her phone. The queue was moving very slowly and it was crowded and I was nervous about the queue-frontation, so I put down the cucumber and went outside and put down the oranges and left.
This morning I put on some perfume for the first time in a while. If I'm out and about, I usually wear it every day, so this was a treat just for me, I guess.
Time is very strange. I can't tell how long this week has been. Everything is warped.
I pumped up the tires on my bike -- which I would do when spring emerges from winter anyway -- and went to Victoria Park. I met up at a distance with my friend, Lynsey, who is Scottish, and who gave me a lovely small wheel of halloumi, which I shall look forward to. It was relieving to be out and about and in the sun. The park started getting pretty crowded though, so we left with a promise to meet again (perhaps with a thermos next time).
I think what I'll do is try to have a good, working schedule during the week. Wake around 07:30, yoga, shower, dress, breakfast. Start work at 09:30. Daily check in with Charlie. I'd thought I might interrupt the day with a row. I have a cheap rowing machine which was gathering dust but is no longer. I'd forgotten how strenuous it is. It'll be good to do that. On weekends I won't set the alarm. That's about the extent of the distinction for now.
Every now and again it dawns on me my life might be like this for months and I cry a little bit. I'm far away from my immediate family, but that's been my life for about 16 years now. But, this is a bit different because we're freshly, definitely vulnerable in a new way, and very far and it's hard and likely dangerous to travel, I presume. I don't want to think too much about things going wrong on that front.
I'm also trying to read more, but my attention span is broken. I have learned of the Japanese art of 積ん読 (Tsundoku), where one accretes possible reading material, letting them pile up, ready to read later. Unbeknownst to me, I was named informal middle-aged female world champion about three months ago, and haven't stopped.
- Notes on Nationalism by George Orwell. Shockingly prescient, and he was only 47 when he died. My age. It's one of the brilliant Penguin Modern series. I also have Dorothy Parker, Audre Lorde, and Borges to snack on. I'm good at snack reading. Fuck! I'm 47.
- The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern. A good, fiddly fiction work, talked up by my friend Sarah Hatter, whom I implicitly trust with literature and poetry suggestions. I've been reading this for months. Just picked it up again last night, and read it out loud for myself.
- Black Wave by Michelle Tea. Somewhat nostalgic for me about San Francisco and the Bay Area, and some lovely writing on love, self-obsession and The Scene. A gift from Annette, who I should probably pass it on to once I've read it.
- Happiness by Design by Paul Dolan. The puzzle is to figure out what to pay attention to, instead of letting your attention sink into dead pools that suck your anxiety out of your gut and into your brain. I've been trying to learn more about my anxiety after a tough year last year. It's good. I might write about it in another journal if I'm having a good day or not eating anything interesting that you'll surely want to know about.
- The Body by Bill Bryson. Fucking love Bill Bryson. Got this on Audible, for sunny afternoons on the couch. Such a good writer he might even keep me awake.
- I also always have have a hand on a Lapham's Quarterly, which remains my absolute favourite publication ever. I haven't even read all the ones I've got from cover to cover anyway.
I'll try to write each day, but no promises! Although I suspect making stuff you need to get done each day will help it feel a little less like prison. Or possibly more. Let's see. It'll be nice to share my thoughts a bit. I suspect this is going to get lonely and strange, even though we'll also figure out gradually how we can connect with each other.