I didn’t realise I had pet-adoption blues, in fact that I’d had it before, till after I was out of it.
We adopted our older dog Panja, a few months into the pandemic, and our younger one Cookie, just a few weeks ago. With both adoptions we had actually been looking to adopt older dogs, not being too keen on toilet training. In both cases we ended up with pups.
And in both cases, I felt doubt and anxiety at the commitment we’d taken on, and there was despair at the chaos that the new puppy brought.
I didn’t expect Netflix’s show Maid, to trigger me the way it did.
The show, based on a true story, is the story of a single mom, Alex, trying to build her own life by escaping an emotionally abusive relationship, trying to take care of a mentally ill mother, and having no qualifications, or money.
She is always steps from homelessness, battling a very flawed welfare system, and every time you think things are going to get better for her, her paper-thin foundation collapses.
Even almost 8 years after my own toxic relationship ended, I realized my emotions are raw and tender to the touch.
That 2020 has been a strange year is true of every single human. When we started the year, COVID was a foreign problem, something barely on the speck of the horizon.
But I’m not writing this to talk about the innumerable ways our lives have changed, for two reasons.
Firstly, we have all lived it. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly – that experience of change has been unique for each and every single individual – and there is nothing particularly noteworthy about my experience, besides perhaps that I eventually contracted the disease – an experience that I’ve already documented extensively.
I have always been clumsy, but since Friday, have had a serious case of butter fingers. My limbs felt weak, and still do. I fumbled trying to put on a pair of earrings dropping one in the process. At night I toss and turn trying to find a position that doesn’t make the tightness in my chest worse.
After eight months of a paranoia, stringent precautions and multiple skin breakouts thanks to the chafing of masks, it is a rather strange thing to have a COVID positive test report in front of you.
It’s like you spend all these months running from something and when it finally catches up with you, there is some sense of relief.
I was told it was inevitable. I had come to visit my parents as a surprise for my mother – and much to my surprise, they all tested positive. In a house inhabited by three COVID patients, there were just too many germs. Masks and social distancing attempts were more farce than protective.
Good morning! I’m reporting straight from the hot zone. It is day 7 since my exposure to Corona 1 and Corona 2, aka Mom & Dad who tested positive for COVID the day after I arrived after a long and difficult eight month separation.
Forgive my humour but there are so few cheerful things about COVID, we have to snatch up small moments of laughter where we get them.
At around 3 am On Tuesday morning (aka exposure + 4 days) I found myself in a half-crazed delirious fit of shivers. I took my temperature from an admittedly questionable digital thermometer. 99.8.
The first reaction is always fear. That’s what I felt when I thought about getting tested.
In our mind’s eye – even us, the ultra – privileged – we picture the government storming our house and seizing us, and holding us captive in less than sanitary treatment facilities where poor hygiene would kill us before COVID would.
No matter how eloquently we wax on about civic duty, we all feel this little spot of selfishness. I know I did.