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 Sixty

A day off from correspondences, where I am free of the tyranny of responding to inquiries. Yet the day is not restful as I had hoped.

Partly it is the fact that I had a miserable sleep. An uneasy one, though dreamless. It took forever for me to surrender to it and even after I did it felt as though I was forever near waking, drifting in and out of slumber. I woke early and it is as though I didn’t really sleep at all.

An unaccountable anxiety worries at me. I felt it some weeks ago, on and off, when all this began and now it has returned. There its provenance seemed clear: something had ended and was gone forever. Now I cannot locate it’s source. Is it that my love must soon return to her daily drudgery in her tower? Is it that all of this is wearing on me?

We bought some plants to fill up the house with greenery, as well as strawberries and herbs for the garden outside. Planting them occupied me, taking me away from that sense of what I don’t know. Unease? Dread?

We’re all of us waiting to see what comes next, uncertain as ever what it will be.

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