My last post was half a decade ago and an entire lifetime unfurled in between
A year ago, a catastrophic bushfire, followed by a global pandemic was too ridiculous to contemplate to be reality. Too crazy for a B grade flick, let alone a full blown year. Little did I know that reality has a sick sense of humour and an inventive vocabulary.
Being in iso is now a thing. As is lockdowns, masking up and doom scrolling. Shoes and heels are an interesting concept and Zooming is happening – all the time.
More than anything I didn’t expect to feel so tired after 7 months of lockdown. Our second lockdown was much harder than the first time around. The first lockdown was fueled by adrenaline, Netflix and a camaraderie that we’re all doing it together. The second time around felt like being the only kid in school forgotten to be picked up by a negligent parent. Days stretch on like warm, chewed and rechewed bubble gum.
Each morning was punctuated by the daily presser with Dan Andrews – dubbed the shittiest tv show ever by David Milner (aka Melbourne’s lockdown voice). Somewhere along the way I was functioning, but my mind was crumbling a little and my crafting kept me sane. It was exhausting to be bombarded with the media screaming how terrible the lockdown was. It was even worse when friends or family asked how we’re going under Dictator Dan.
A newly minted Melbournite, I had very little interest in how politics works in Victoria. But over 120 days straight of the daily presser gave me a cram course on the working of the Victorian government. I’m also a damn expert on identifying ministers and masked journalists based on their voice alone.
I get angry at the media landscape, and the irresponsible way that facts are bent beyond recognition. It scared me to realise just how fragile our world and mortality is. For the first couple of months I woke up in a sweat dreaming that people I love can disappear in a matter of days.
Purgatory was exhausting, but we kept crawling forward to a new lockdown milestone praying for numbers to fall.
And fall they did.
I never thought we’d have a double donut day (no deaths or new cases) so quickly. A part of me had given up the idea of a light at the end of the tunnel. Cafes are opening up and the city is slowly coming to life again.
At the same time, the idea of getting on the beer and getting out and about is not driving me out to the shops waving my credit card. The new world seems a little too strange and new right now. Give me a couple of days and maybe I can finally have my first coffee in a mug and not feel that familiar sense of dread brushing my neck.
A year ago, a catastrophic bushfire, followed by a global pandemic was too ridicilous to contemplate. Too crazy for a B grade flick, let alone a full blown year. Little did I know that reality has a sick sense of humour and an inventive vocabulary.
Being in iso is now a thing. As is lockdowns, masking up and doom scrolling. Shoes and heels are an interesting concept and Zooming is happening – all the time.
More than anything I didn’t expect to feel so tired after 7 months of lockdown. Our second lockdown was much harder than the first time around. The first lockdown was fueled by adrenaline, Netflix and a camaraderie that we are all doing it together. The second time around felt like being the only kid in school forgotten to be picked up by a negligent parent. Days stretch on like warm, chewed and rechewed bubble gum.
Each morning was punctuated by the daily presser with Dan Andrews – dubbed the shittiest tv show ever by David Milner (aka Melbourne’s lockdown voice). Somewhere along the way I was functioning, but my mind was crumbling a little and my crafting kept me sane. It was exhausting to be bombarded with the media screaming how terrible the lockdown was. It was even worse when friends or family asked how we’re going under Dictator Dan.
A newly minted Melbournite, I had very little interest in how politics works in Victoria. But 120 days straight of the daily presser gave me a cram course on the working of the Victorian government. I’m also damn expert on identifying ministers and masked journalists based on their voice alone.
I get angry at the media landscape, and the irresponsible way that facts are bent beyond recognition. It scared me to realise just how fragile our world and mortality is. For the first couple of months I woke up in a sweat dreaming that people I love can disappear in a matter of days.
Purgatory was exhausting, but we kept crawling forward to a new lockdown milestone praying for numbers to fall.
And fall they did.
I never thought we’d have a double donut day (no deaths or new cases) so quickly. A part of me has given up the idea of a light at the end of the tunnel. Cafes are opening up and the city is slowly coming to life again.
At the same time, the idea of getting on the beer and getting out and about is not driving me out to the shops waving my credit card. The new world seems a little too strange and new right now. Give me a couple of days and maybe I can finally have my first coffee in a mug and not feel that familiar sense of dread brushing my neck.
mirgraphy 