Away a couple days and it doesn’t seem to matter. Restrictions eased, and my behavior is no different. France also is no longer in lockdown, and my Instagram feeds from France haven’t changed much either.
Meanwhile, I think we’ve started week 8 of whatever we have come to call this - self-isolation, quarantine, shelter in place, safe at home - and it’s getting harder to differentiate the days. Today it was work followed by an experimentation on champagne cocktails - end the day listening to Bossanova. A new batch of groceries delivered followed by a wish of having planned differently. It’s hard to be spontaneous. I have a longing for road trips and beat poetry, to leave the routine. But here we are and I remain grateful for it despite the resentment.
I know I need to take charge of the time. There are opportunities, ways to think differently about just about everything. Instead I wait. But what am I really waiting for? A new routine, a new rhythm, A new set of expectations? Now is the time to rewrite them all and still the inertia prevails. Tomorrow, there is always tomorrow - until there isn’t.
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