14th April ’20. Day 22 of Isolation.

I’d felt lethargic. Lazy. Like I never wanted to do anything ever again if it required moving. The brown sofa, my cradle.

When the weather changed and heat spread over the fresh shit that was the cold day, I suddenly felt alive.

IMAGINE: isolation without warmth. 😫😫😫

The sun, our ultimate energy giver raised me from mental slovenliness and gifted a rocket fit for my gut and grey matter.

At 4:30, I went for a 2-metre-distance walk with Sam. We found the pond behind St Andrew’s Church in Holcombe, I’d been wanting to go for a while.

It’s well-known through local villages because 5 children died there in 1899 when they fell through ice – it had been frozen over.

As we sat at the edge, I looked the tragedy up online to check facts and found a newspaper article from 1899 – EIGHTEEN NINETY-NINE – and thought how mind-blowing it was that we have everything at our cursed fingertips. Cursed because they were germ-carriers and I kept touching my fucking face.

**How many times does a person touch their face in half hour? Don’t know? Enter global pandemic: every. five. fucking. minutes.**

My fingertips not only had an 1899 newspaper under them on the screen of my phone, they had Twiglet grim on because I couldn’t lick the damn things in case the tree trunk I’d hung to while traversing a stream (over step stones) that felt like white water rapids had been touched-up by some Corona-infected stranger, who might also have coughed on the trunk.

(Now, I realise I ate the bloody Twiglets after touching the TREEEEEEEE!!!)

Anyway, on returning home, in the mirror I saw the glorious sun, giver of energy, had also bestowed a red nose. Every. Time. It hadnt been that hot had it? Red nose said, “Pah-haha.”

This evening I’m bouncing off the walls. It’s the sun. Too many excited flags are rippling through my stomach. The world is falling apart, but I feel so happy. Am I allowed to say that?

Fuck it. I just did.

Truth is, like I said to Israel the other day, ‘You get the people who do well when life is “normal”, where you and I don’t and then everything is flipped on its head and those people are lost but you and I are on our feet.’

All this time to read and write and exercise and learn and play my violin without the stress of caring or a full-time stressy job?

I know I’m lucky. And I’d feel guilty but things were so fucking hard with Dad the last three years, fuck it, I won’t. I’m going to enjoy every last moment I can because life will go dark again. It always does.

And always, the dark is followed by a rising sun.
Giver of energy.
Giver of life.

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