Thursday, 3 June 2021

Prince Phillip died


I'm just easing myself back in to my blog. So many things have happened and in almost all cases it didn't even cross my mind to blog about them. Andrew Laming, he's another one I failed to blog about several days in succession. But there's just so many. Well, that's the terrible majesty of blogging, you just have to be like, well, I missed the boat on writing that down at the time and now it's gone forever, sunk to the bottom of the ocean and broken and swollen and brittle as glass, silted over, lost in the dark. 

I moved my cane palm inside off the balcony a few days ago because it hated being outside, but now it's inside Pompey has started to eat it, and knowing what he's like he won't stop eating it until it's completely denuded of leaves. 

Lockdown is just boring, thankless, a shit job one can aspire only to endure. For all of them my strategy has been fundamentally the same although the methods of executing it have varied. It's to exert myself and make effort, and to ignore my inclinations till they can't be ignored any more. So there is no putting off of things that are tedious or dismal and there is no indulgence. A Zoom workout before dawn each day, and ten thousand daily steps on top of that, no alcohol and next to no sugar, a brisk morning walk and a takeaway coffee carried back to start work, outside for brief bursts of ball games at different points and a long energetic walk between 4 and 6pm, keeping a close eye on the progress and timetable of school from home, plentiful varied healthy food, games and puzzles and craft and funny videos, and keeping things really clean, warm, fresh and comfortable. Jesus Christ it is a drag. At this stage, an unspeakable indulgence would be to snuggle against my pillows well past sunrise reading Mr Bligh's Bad Language. Maybe on Sunday I will allow myself this. But one has to be careful. A little bit of leeway and a cheat morning turns into a cheat day and cheat week, and before you know it you're where I was at the start of January, nominally still working from home as was mandatory, but in reality not even able to get out of bed let alone function like a proper person. 

This effortful lockdown life is designed to make and keep Leonard cheerful and happy. It is achieving that, although it must be acknowledged that I don't actually know whether he'd be just as happy with a whole lot less. It feels worthwhile when I put him to bed and he says he's had a great day and hopes tomorrow will be great too. I've been in analysis long enough to know that the anxious care I provide to him is being provided also by me to another baby whose survival I am always very frightened and uncertain about. 

1 comment:

Helen Balcony said...

I hear you about the slippery slope of cheat mornings/days/weeks. I booked some leave this month and have had to have a staycation I've got a lot done, but there have been many days at the bottom of the slippery slope. Solidarity.