A game where the whole world takes themselves hostage in their houses and are forced to do all the things we complained we had never the time to do.
Dealing with our issues or drinking them. Hobbies that include hiding from ourselves, working from home, procrastinating, productivity, distraction, the rough transition to becoming a runner, your pets looking too happy, carb-loading, meditation as a form of free medication, online exercise classes, your mothers now mandatory 2-day-a- week phone calls, the daily walk, an odee of family, Netflicks becoming a little repetitive and the overwhelming scent of hand-sanitiser becoming the 2020 fragrance of choice.
Breathes out***.
Now is the time not to live but to be. But I guess the daunting question is HOW when we’ve built lives around constantly being busy?
How do we now sit still?
Quick explanation . . .
My need to write seems to have come back to me due to this weird time of just ‘being’.
I stopped writing not because I didn’t have anything to say but because it didn’t feel right. Instead, it felt stressful and upsetting. See, I wrote something big, possibly my best work yet however the topic was too close and too painful and every edit felt raw and fresh. And I think revisiting the topic for the edits associated that pain with the blog.
However, Â I realized today that just because some things are hard to talk about doesn’t mean they shouldn’t. That usually means they are important and important things need to be said. So I will be uploading the article “The Question of WHY…” over the next few weeks every WEDNESDAY, in a series of chunks. I hope the article will help people better understand a societal taboo that happens frequently behind closed doors.
Even in my pause I always liked to think of writing with this quote in mind;
“If you love something, set it free and [unlike my first love] if it’s yours it will come back.”
And since my notebooks are pages upon pages of scribbles, I think it’s been decided.
So here’s to days of free-time and hopefully keeping you entertained while we all slowly lose our minds in quarantine.
SNIPPET of tomorrow’s UPLOAD-
Isolation Diaries: The Goldfish Tank of Terrace Houses
I can hear funk R n B harmonies coming from the lounge room. The sound somewhat hypnotic, despite being a little too loud and too over-emotional for the neighbors to want to hear. I like hearing it playing hide-and-go-seek-people with no one in the house but me to find.
To my right, I can hear the house with the baby playing classical.
The clash at times hysterical and wrong. Other times, the equivalent of coffee with a dash of almond milk. *** Some of us like Almond milk***.
Behind me,
I can hear an assortment of voices, mainly lower with some high-pitch laughs. They exist inside a 3 -story terrace house, all seven of them. They each sound different, unique as they occupy your ears. With only a fence as a barrier, you start to paint pictures of who they are from the way they talk. The way they sound and if they sing. Their voices usually occupy dancing through our kitchen with the window always permanently ajar.
One voice is incredibly deep and talks often. We call him Santas Claus….
Beyond-curious 