Quarantine Diaries

Week… 6? 7? 25? does it even matter anymore?

My days have now developed a routine. At 9am I ask my son to get off his game and do some school work, he replies “nearly done”, and we repeat this at half-hourly intervals until it seems like a reasonable time to open a(nother) bottle of wine. I spend 8 hours attempting to work from home, but somehow get nothing much done other than applying laugh or cry emoji reactions to my friend’s Facebook posts, making endless plates of food for the kid, and mindlessly scrolling through my TikTok feed.

A rat moved in a few days ago. I should deal with it, but it’s quite nice having a new face in my bubble. I suspect it’s a millennial – so far it’s snacked on avocado, Burgen bread, liquorice tea bags and pistachios. No wonder it can’t afford a house of its own.

With the news that we are going to move back to Level 2, it seems my home office is soon to be abandoned. It was nice having the fridge within arm’s reach, and a view of trees and birds rather than air conditioning vents and Hillcrest Road.  I’m looking forward to having colleagues again though. My usual office mates are much less likely to instant message me just to call me a n00b, or ask me to come see if their pee is an unusual colour.  

The dog is going to be devastated though.