It’s hard, really, to hate Covid-19. It’s doing what it does. It’s ish-ness is to survive, breed and propagate the species. We humans have been ever so successful at doing that for millennia. To hate a thing because it attacks you is to fail to understand its essence. Nonetheless, we are under attack.
We knew it was going to be touch and go, with all non-urgent operations being suspended at the end of the month, but we were hopeful that Janet’s stent replacement would go ahead. Sadly, it’s been cancelled and not only that but her condition puts her in one of the highest vulnerability groups.
We are living in the same house, but for at least the next three months unless a vaccine is rolled out (unlikely) she cannot leave her home, neither can I approach her closer than two metres and – obviously – we can’t touch. No touching, no cuddling, no back-rubs. Separate lives in sight of one another.
It’s odd how hard that is, less than one day into it.
You think you got it tough.
Humans need contact. It’s normal and natural. Even inverted introverts like me need social contact. If you don’t, there’s a word for you. Sociopath. I’m not sure what this two metre dance around the house is going to be like. Ducking into doorways to allow the other to pass by, scheduling time in the kitchen…
Think of us as we dance. Sometimes one dance partner might take to the gardens – oh how blessed are we to have gardens – and one might take to the garage where dreams are currently parked in abeyance. Or perhaps given we are allowed one form of exercise, but no… surely that won’t be accepted.
I’ve already had some interesting conversations in my Whereby room (unlocked while I’m in my study). I’m sure over the next few weeks such forms of video conference chatting will be invaluable.