Notes on the Grippe

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Forty

It is a true quarantine now, though we have much longer to go before we sleep. Perhaps as much as another quarantine, perhaps even more. The thought does not fill me with dread. I know I can manage this now and another week or month will not change that. Life has regained its rhythms, though not without some dread creeping through the undercurrents, sounding through the feedback.

What comes after this does worry me on occasion. It will still involve seclusion of a sort. Much of what we did previously will still be denied us. It will be a half-life that we live, like we are players on the stage trying to mimic something we’ve read about. And the dread lord will still find his way in. He always does when our defences are half-constructed and more theoretical than stone.

But some good will come from this – we have to believe that, even if it is not enough to fill our cups. When I take the measure of that in these first forty days, the first thing that comes to mind is how lucky I am to have my love at my side. I could not imagine facing this alone. The time we have had together, time that we would not have had otherwise, is something to cherish.  

There has been an ease that has come over me as the quarantine has gone on. I no longer feel the need to be busy at all times and accomplishing things. The work is there and it will done, but in its own time. I feel no guilt about leaving it aside rather than trying to force the matter. I have also been attempting things I might not have otherwise. A diary of sorts for one. Others that may come to fruition in the weeks and months ahead, though I have no great worry if they don’t. It is enough to try, and whatever comes will come.

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