DAY 85? 92?

Everything is flavourless.

Today I woke up realising I had a dream about someone I hadn’t seen in years.

Why they were still popping up in my subconscious I have no idea, but I felt almost possessed while reached for my phone and searched their name up on my Facebook, before fetching water or heading to the bathroom.

M-I- my fingers typed, before sanity clicked in.

I would be lying if I said this wasn’t a regular occurrence. Of late, I had been having a lot of dreams like this, where my lack of socialisation in lockdown, would lead my extroverted side to live her best life, while I was unconscious.

These dreams felt so real, I would touch, stare, chat to these people with even their eye-colour looking accurate. Things I never really noticed about them, my mind seems to have kept like coins found on the street.

Anyway, it meant when I woke up I felt rather discombobulated in that I felt like I missed them, or a part of them, having just spoke to them, in what felt like moments ago. However, after a coffee or three I remember the whole picture of why we fell out of contact. How they didn’t bother turning up to my birthday, how we found the other just not our cup of tea anymore, or simply stopped being in the same place around the same time.

M-I-T-C-( my fingers began typing once again ) FOR THE LOVE OF GOD- STOP! I throw my phone across the bed.

This was also one of a few reminders, of how little self-restraint I had now.

If the first lockdown was a human intervention in learning how to pause and be at one with nature, then this lockdown was a phycological one. Like escape room with no end-date and case numbers sometimes doubling in a day. This lockdown was a test of hope with new restrictions released every week, taking bite after bite of our freedom.

Sitting outside in the sun, I started realising how lockdown had kidnapped, bagged and erased a lot of fun things we use to do at home, alone or with company.

Self-love activities were no longer sexy or soothing. Instead they were adapted as everyday routines before being tossed out, a few weeks in.

Mini art projects, house improvements, books, take-away, Netflicks, alcohol and online shopping were all losing their lusty effects.

Balls of yarn decorate the floor of my room like drying spaghetti. All tangled and sprawling, like a spider with a million limbs. My stick- on-nails, still stuck in my handbag for when the mood strikes.

I remember being so excited int he purchase of them, and then when they came, I realised my sewing machine would just pluck them off one at a time, like petals of a flower but perhaps more violently.

My candle making kit had become another floor decoration, with two small candles being produced and then the rest just sitting there. Staring at me.

It was like the idea and the enthusiasm were sweet if only for a second. And then by the time the box came in the mail, a month later, the idea and enthusiasm were gone. They had packed their bags, and smuggled their way outside the country- without me. Probably to Japan, where the cherry blossom trees were in full bloom. Like snow dancing in a warm wind, but with no one to dance with this season on account of everyone staying inside.

Unlike the first month or two, where I had food-cravings, I now inherited jumper cravings. I needed the right level, weight and feel of comfort to match my mood before I can begin my day. I was also stuck to a routine that was as satisfying as bland crackers. The aim was simply to get my work done and feel okay about it. And by meditating, stretching, exercising and going out for a walk every morning, it usually worked. And by the afternoon my study began, my face moisturised and my body at peace. Before wine would coat my body in something sugary and detaching, until 10-11pm where I would finally leave the study and plunge into my sheets.

When life was normal, I enjoyed going out on Friday nights for drinks with friends, however on Saturdays I had started to enjoy staying in. After a long day of work, I would reserve the night for an art project or for some writing, usually over a glass of wine or a call with a friend.

I remember at first when I started to do this it felt somewhat unnatural. I was always labeled an extrovert and to feel less than felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable. But then when I thought about it, I was only going out on Saturdays to prove a point and not because I really wanted to see anyone. It was like high school peer-pressure that stuck in my head, that made no sense at all. Like needing to have a date to formal or be a size 8 to be considered pretty.

But going back to the point about savings, like most people, buying a house was on my bucket list. And that meant, I needed to have some money nestled safely in the bank, somewhere I couldn’t reach or perhaps floating along in some shares somewhere. If Sex and the City has taught women anything it’s that a diamanté swan purse is ugly no matter who it’s from and you can’t buy a house using shoes – sorry Carrie.

When lockdown began, I had planned my Saturday nights with the artsy idea of painting this photograph of a lake in fall, for my gold frame in my bedroom, which had been my screen saver for the longest time. I also had plans to do a portrait of my dad in charcoal for Father’s Day.

However at the moment, I couldn’t fathom enjoying nor even starting either idea.

I think everyone at different times during this lockdown probably felt the power of choice having a massive part to play in making us feel like ourselves. Helping us feel free and like we have control over our lives and their direction. It’s funny how we don’t really think about these things until they’re taken away from us.

There is talk that with vaccinations increasing that lockdown will end in the next month, which means I really shouldn’t complain but rather get excited.

Excited to roam free with Bianca when they finally lift the lockdown rope. Free to visit the markets, basketball, ballet, my dad. Maybe even date someone or three…

Free to possibly visit Japan. But moreso, I think I was most looking forward for the stupid small things that Covid has made numb to feel enjoyable once again.

I want to look at my house not like it’s a tomb, but like a retreat after a long day. I want to feel relaxed there like it’s a place I choose to be, rather than have to be. I’m also excited to go back to my job and greet all the customers that I pass on walks and even have my boss say terrible things to me in passing, like how talking to customers is selfish. I must be crazy but I want that- need that- dream of that, again.

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