Day Four - One Big Fog

Monday 04 April 2022 Day Four – One Big Fog

After a night of nausea, I awoke to the realisation that I couldn’t fend this off with a couple of Panadol and a few series on Netflix. It was time to graciously request a friend’s help. I compiled a list of things I thought might help: sinus rinse, the biggest box of the strongest lemsip they have, a cough bottle, motillium and dioralyte. Oh, the glamour.

She came through, and then some, with a vegan bueno. Sweet angel.

Covid brain is very real. It has been so hard to focus on any one task. Before, as I mentioned, I could do one or maybe one and a half tasks/activities with my day and I would be wiped out tired. Now, I’m too tired to even attempt anything, and my brain will not focus on any one thing anyway. These entries have been really hard to keep up with on the daily, but I’m trialing it as a writing exercise whilst I’m not being too precious about what I post.

My day consisted mostly of small plates of food and bed rest with my laptop. The night brought the first of my “covid-somnia” episodes, and a lot of frustration, which actually lead to some late-night writing. Introducing, the aggravated interlude:

The other day I couldn't stop thinking, in a relatively positive light, about my future. Thinking that over the next few days I wanted to give serious consideration to what would make me happy, and so what do I want to do, where do I want to be, and so then, what do I need to do to get there. It’s beginning to haunt me in a way that doesn't feel positive anymore. Now, caught in a covid-somnia episode at 02.52 in the morning, I'm riddled with thoughts of "what the fuck am I doing?" and "I don't think I'll ever be happy".

A great friend told me not too long ago that she's saving for a mortgage. This shocked me, and I'm pretty sure it shocked her boyfriend too. The thing is, that works for them. It's a good time for them. But she also let me in on a thought that has rolled around my skull since: whether we like it or not, women are constantly made aware of the idea that they are a clock. A ticking one. One that is finite and determines much of what we may or may not want out of life. The idea that we must be relatively proactive about our future is hammered into us from a young age, but all the way through young adulthood and beyond.

I for one have never been interested in having kids, but the mental block that "maybe someday you will" looms. Although this is true, and of course, I could change my mind, as humans are invariably complex and ever-changing, I cannot imagine how I could ever find meaning in being a mother. But when I think this, I then don't know how I will ever find meaning in anything at all.

I'm not sure how to unlock a happiness that is not one that is found in the mundane every day. But, who wishes for mundanity?  If things do slow down later in life, and simpler pleasures are what make it more meaningful and enjoyable, then what the hell am I doing to enjoy now? Doom scrolling social media? A brain worm of the most evil degree. 

I apparently snoozed after this expression of frustration, but I will most certainly be returning to this as a think-piece in later posts. 

That’s all I have to offer today.