Diary Entries

Bloated and bruised. Uncomfortable and sore. Heat pack, paracetamol, chocolate, and audiobooks. Another five days of being reminded of my body's sex and biological imperative.

Now that restrictions are being eased, I left the house to go to the local shops for the first time this week, and it didn't go well. I knew that not being able to make regular trips to populated areas would affect my progress but I had hoped that my awareness of this would somehow reduce the severity but it didn't. I used to make sure I went somewhere public once a week. Just to keep control of it. But after 9 weeks at home there was no way that I was getting through this without a relapse. So now I'm reduced to being able to go out in the car so long as I don't have to get out. And I can still take my son for walks in the nearby bush. But beyond that my agoraphobia is too strong. Irrational but in control. A lot of work will be need to get back to where I was and I need to stop myself from feeling like all the work I previously did was wasted. But I'm hopefully and I know I have people around me to support me. But right now, as I lie comfortably in my bed, wrapped up securely in my blanket, the house still and quiet, I find it hard to convince myself that I can't just stay here, like this, safe and content, forever.

I’ve been locked down before. At the age of nine, in 1956, I spent 10 weeks in the children’s ward at Fremantle Hospital with rheumatic fever. The recovery was slow and long, and my muscles wasted away until, by the time I was medically fit, I had to build enough limb strength so I could start to walk again. I can see now that what I lacked back then was a memory store. With only a few years of memorable experiences to turn over in my mind, boredom hovered relentlessly. Today, it’s different. One of the (very few) advantages of being 73 is that I have an almost-limitless storehouse of memories to explore and I have, thankfully, retained the cognitive ability to retrieve, examine and re-archive them. The covid-19 epidemic has choked off opportunities for new experiences, and their propensity to occupy front-of-mind at the expense of older memories. Some of these are validated by photographs, letters, and the occasional diary entry. It’s not unusual to find that a remembered event wasn’t quite like that, when you check the available references. Then there are the projects that don’t require outdoors activity. One of my grandsons is eagerly anticipating his inheritance of my father’s roll-top desk, which I’m busy refurbishing for him. It will be 60 years old when he sits down at it, and reads the provenance statement that documents the pathway to his ownership. Somehow, I also have to find time to explore the life of a Frenchman who, I’ve just discovered, is almost certainly my missing great-great-grandfather. Not to mention the nagging guilt that I’ve promised to write an entry for the Indigenous Dictionary of Australian Biography, and haven’t yet started on it. No, covid-19, you don’t frighten me. I haven’t got time to be frightened.

I think I am falling in love. Falling, because it is downward projection. Love, because I have this innate feeling inside of me that has been awoken. It sends my hands shaking and muffles my brain as I instead follow the sounds of my heart pumping. I think I am falling in love. But falling in love with someone is not the same as falling in love with an idea. I see a picture of where I want to be, a vision. I replay the moments that have passed in my head on repeat like ferris wheel spinning, and stopping, spinning, and stopping. I think I am falling in love. With who? With what? I do not know. But my heart strings are loose and they are being tugged as my feet shuffle closer and my eyes grow bigger. I am falling, falling, falling deeper into the unknown. Drowning, drowning, drowning deeper into the sea. Love has succumbed me, wrapped me in its depths, pushed me off a cliff and waited, waited, waited for me to hit the ground.

I am hopeful for the first time in months, probably a few years. Corona-19 is a sledge hammer to Our collective selve to damn well wake up. What are we doing to ourselves, our planet in pursuit of progress, pursuit of more, more, more and who cares about our neighbours....... especially if the live over the waters. We are too cruel and uncaring and the planet bears the brunt of it...... the poor and forgotten as we forget and unsee...... buying cheap tack from cheap labour, cheap shots that They choose to work for Nothing. Cruel people with cheap shots. Covid gives me hope as we are forced to live simply, re consider travel, that We Can put everything on hold. Death to the trolls No matter how metaphorically I also feel hopeful. I have become unemployed overnight but I am hopeful. Something has to give. Be kind.

Well what a ride it has been. The shocking realisation that captivity was happening to a resigned acceptance. Disciplining myself to exercise at home, focussing on house and work tasks, finishing a scarf started some time ago, actually speaking to friends on the phone _ so retro_ embracing video communication with its chaotic nature, working through a stock of food, once again reloading the dishwasher, grateful that my children are at uni so home schooling is just a terrifying concept, surprised that the days fill up easily, pleased that job tasks are ticked off, excited to be legally invited to dinner as one of two_ told to wear tracksuit as one cannot emerge from this elastic waste, UGG boots cocoon too quickly _ see the emerging light of "freedom". Some have have loved this process. Not me, resigned to it yes and completely see the reason why there are positives but look forward to being able to see a great play, have coffee with a friend _ with a renewed appreciation of these gifts and ones like them. Sharon

I feel like, no matter how much I sleep, I am constantly exhausted and, while I started isolation with so many plans to "get stuff done"... none of it has eventuated. Don't get me wrong, I think that, overall I'm doing okay. I'm one of the fortunate ones who is still working, I have family around me, I get out every day for a walk. I'm (mostly) eating well, trying to not overload on the news and catch up regularly with friends via Zoom and phone calls. But a few months before all this my long-term relationship broke down. Then both of my parents became seriously unwell and the pandemic broke. And I'm just exhausted all the time. Exhausted and worried and tearful. I don't seem to have my usual resilience. I drag myself through the day and then the smallest of things sends me into a flood of tears. Or a fury. Life just feels so unpredictable and unmanageable.

I hear so many people talk about anxiety and boredom. Neither of these apply to me. I'm really enjoying this enforced stay at home period. I've heaps to do. Today I didn't get up until 8:30, had breakfast and did part of an online drawing workshop on enveloping method of drawing. Then morning tea where we did a couple of crosswords with our coffee and biscuit. After that I went for a walk, just over 5,000 steps. Stopped in at the newsagents at Artarmon and bought a card for our 46th wedding anniversary and a mouse doorstop. That's going to be the anniversary present. I'm planning to paint it before I give it to Peter. Got home in time to make sandwiches for lunch, after washing the hands of course. Now I've been catching up with emails. I've started basecoating a little sleigh in red and white which I might give away at Christmas and then I plan to do some embroidery.

Dear Diary, Life is boring, I have not left home in six weeks and I am bored. But luckily I get to go back to school for a few days a week next week. I still prefer online learning though, I can get everything done in the morning and for the rest of the day, I can sit in a tree and read until the mozzies eat me alive. Everyone says this is a once in a 100-year event and I think they are right. 100 years ago we had the Spanish flu take over our lives. Every time someone coughs my younger brother will run to the other end of the house yelling 'Corona.' Life is 'slowly' turning back to normal ( emphasis on the slowly part ) but it will be a long, dusty road to recovery. Dance helps me take my mind off the things that are happening, I can just dance for ages and not take care of what is happening. Cooking helps too, I have decided to attempt to cook a sponge cake in the wood oven, mum says I will fail and so does dad because my grandmother who had the oven before, baked cakes in there that she took to the Sydney Royal Easter Show, but she never once made a successful sponge cake in there. I shall prove them wrong though. Well, I must go, it is time for me to do the dreaded task of reading the massive email our principal sent about school. Yours sincerely, A . K

I'm frustrated because the corona virus makes it difficult for people to go along and do their own thing at the shops. What's good about it is I don't need to do school at school. I can do school at home which is much better and easier because there's no rules. Why do you have to do school at school anyway? When it's over my dad and lovely brother and mum and me will go to Ribs n Burgers all together.