Diary Entries

A man, who was a boy when I last spoke to him, just slid into my DMs. I have a feeling the isolation is making him nostalgic. I started to think about the road not taken. A life not led. Perhaps it's the benefit of time or knowing the world as it is now. I felt... relief. Twenty-year-old me may not have felt this way at the time but here's to near misses, and being grateful for the person you did end-up with during a pandemic.

😷 9:18am Good day dearest readers, I hope you look back at the time of crisis we are experiencing now and laugh. At least then some good and happiness will come out of it. Prim (our cat) is awfully behaved, she‘s loving the attention. Still not sure if she’s using it well, but nevertheless she’s loving it. Honestly, the amount of times she jumps onto the counter top is SO annoying. Sometimes that little monster even gets a couple of licks from the bowl waiting to be washed, or a little nibble from the bread in the cupboard. We’ve started putting our bowls and plates in the dishwasher because usually later in the day Prim pukes some food back up. Once it ended up on the rug upstairs. Dad was fuming. Speaking of dad, he hasn’t been having the time of his life during covid. The cat is especially getting on his nerves. Yells a bit, scolds the cat a bit, drinks coffee A LOT, works lots, gets annoyed at his colleagues lots, occasionally sighs. That’s how I can tell he’s not enjoying it. On top of it all when we first started quarantine a robber snuck in and stole our larger car along with my Dad’s keys wallet and bag. The amount of time he spends calling and zooming is crazy!!! And off he goes back to his zooming and calls. Sigh. Adieu Readers, Mei

FREE TO A GOOD HOME Yup, we’re growing vegies too. Dug out the old packets of seeds; even sieved the compost. Um, anyone want a few of our two hundred and seventy three purple carrot seedlings? Free.

Lyrics There was no apology Where is the humanity It would have been better if it never happened ever You’ve got blood on your hands There's no time to dance Tell me what are you going to do You’ve left stains and a mess No one's impressed Tell me what’s your next move You’ve got blood on your hands There’s no time to dance What are you going to do This states in a wreck And we are expected to look up to you I don’t know about you but I’d never trust a man with blood on his hands

Have been unable to sleep AT ALL these past days, I'm so tired... I have a headache. I made really, really good ANZAC biscuits two days ago. Worried and anxious I won't be able to fit into the green dress by December. Stressed about school, cannot fall asleep. Miss my friends, I want to hug them. Also miss going outside and putting effort into my general appearance. Why is the government opening schools again? COVID seems far from over. I wish I could sleep well tonight...

CORONAVIRUS MUSINGS Chopping at the giant strelitzia feels good, even with inadequate secateurs. Crrrunch. Crash. The wide flat leaves flap to the ground, defeated. More sunlight to warm our cooling pool. Hot work, too. I put down The secateurs, stretch, and step gratefully into the water. Later, I see a leaf way above my lethal reach with five perfectly round holes punched across one side. Bullet holes? Hardly, in our quiet eyrie, perched in the bush. Then I spy a young leaf, rolled, waiting to unfurl its glory and wave its banner at the sun. If a hungry insect drilled straight through that juicy roll and then departed…yes! Its mark would stay forever. So what has my attack meant to this sturdy plant? A dozen leaves executed, lying in a heap, still green, but severed. Gardening is not for the faint of heart, thinks Madame Defarge, casual executioner of the leafy suburb, tenderly rescuing a small bronzed beetle from the oceanous pool.

This is not aloneness I could bear this pandemic better if Right before it struck my sister wasn’t Eight months pregnant. I’d bear it better if my heart Hadn’t just been broken. I’d bear it better if I’d invested in A fridge with more freezer space. I have no fear of aloneness. I’ve spent much of my life in emotional solitude: A childhood alone with a depressed mother; School holidays alone suffering from chronic illness; Travelling abroad alone to develop skills As a writer who works alone. Now, I don’t need to hold my family and friends, but My heart needs to hold the same space as them, To breathe the same air. And when it comes to love I’m not the platonic sort. I need to touch and be touched, to rest my head on Their chest and hear them breathing. Projects are falling to pieces but I trust there will be others. There is no shortage of ideas, But it’s the feeling of being unmoored – The chance that the ideas Will never see the light of day. When people online talk about productivity, I am being productive! I am cooking and cleaning and sleeping And that is part of the work too. The loss of routine means that days are Defined by moments, like Fetching toilet paper from my brother’s house; FaceTiming my newborn nephew, still pink; Crying as I walk around the apartment Thinking of men inflicting hurt – The ones I’ve slept with, and the ones telling us To inject ourselves with bleach. Thank God for my cat and the new Fiona Apple album.

These are some of the verses of a poem I wrote. Sadly its too long to include it all here so I hope to be able to include the whole piece for you somehow. It feels good to be creating again after the shock and upset of this pandemic had settled into normalcy in a weird way. Covid Chaos by Monette Lee , Rozelle, NSW A sad, grey Easter day, isolating alone, thank goodness for technology and connecting on the phone. The world has turned to chaos since the last time that we spoke, where hugs are not allowed, nor gatherings with folk. Families are torn apart, and friends kept at a distance, the landscape of our lives has transformed in an instance. .... Conspiracy theories around the world, cause us to consider, What else is there to know on this? Could it be more sinister? Was it natural or man made, that leaked or was released? Its hard to know what to believe, about this heinous beast. Those wealthy few will surely win, with stocks bought at a low, while the rest of us all suffer huge financial blows. The only good news I heard today, is C O 2 reduction, 2 billion tonnes in just 6 weeks! – a fabulous deduction! Out of this time much good will come, as people grow and change, with messages of hope and heart ,as zoom calls are arranged. Creative projects do abound, and will for years to come so lets focus on the positives and try to have some fun. Send funny posts, uplifting quotes, tell loved ones that you care. Stay safe, stay well and be mindfully aware. I’m glad to be Australian, a lucky country true; as I send virtual hugs and love to each and all of you.

ANZAC DAY 2020 [PART 2] Who is this for? And why? My parents are long dead, my husband in bed, the kids asleep in their separate dreams. But the service rolled on, through prayers I believed in, or not, ideas I agreed with or not, and despite our differences, despite the grumps of time and place, I knew there were others alone in our heads as always and this year separated as well in space, but coming together as we do this day for all our separate reasons to think, and to remember. I stood for the Last Post and promptly lost the service on my phone. No matter. Found it again and stood, and thought, and knew though alone, I was not alone. The silent minute passed. Reveille sounded. It was done. No one else had seen the white cat hair decorating my cape with the evidence of love. The scarlet Tudor roses in the garden took me back in time to clashes of sword and pikes, The red geraniums whirled me out in space to outback towns and women in red dirt acres mourning sons and husbands, fathers, brothers, then drying their hands and lighting the stove to cook breakfast for the mob. Should I pick the rosemary? I’d meant to wear it, and forgot. Did it matter? Yes, it did. I chose a careful sprig, aromatic with remembrance. Later, maybe, I’d make Anzac cookies. This year I might perfume them with rosemary. And memories, of course. No, today the service wasn’t perfect. It was messy. It was life. It was perfect. It was. It is.

ANZAC DAY 2020 [PART ONE] It wasn’t perfect. Who likes to wake before dawn? But I threw back the covers eventually, pulled on the warm red cape, found the small electric candle, and took my trusty phone to the top of our drive. Two other households in the street were awake, too, with television services drifting faintly out. One neighbour out with his own small light. We didn’t need to greet each other. Now, to find the carefully researched three minute service. Thanks, Youtube. Nope. Only the full thirty minute one. I sighed and sat on our sandstone rocks next to the letterbox. Surely I could spare thirty minutes once a year? My neighbour’s car pulled out quietly. We don’t talk much, but I knew what he was doing, and he saw me there. Enough. White cockatoos tore up with sound the peaceful lightening of the sky as they were doing at the War Memorial in Canberra, drifting from the faint TVs. The day’s first blowfly asserted insect dominance, followed by the love bite of a sandfly on my hand. Fair enough. I know my place. I let the didgeridoo music flow out and swirl around me perched on my sandstone, a Tibetan pendant of peace hanging around my neck, and thought of all the reasons to be back in bed again.