Post-rona and the queue for the lav

On Monday (Tuesday, Wednesday, etc…) we eat cake, because what is WFH without cake and kegs of coffee.

Month 11. ELEVEN. I was joking previously with the whole ‘Day 279’ stuff, but it’s real isn’t it!! My concentration isn’t good enough to count which day we’re actually on, but it’s nearly a year. A WHOLE YEAR.

I wonder if we’ll tire more quickly from mental stimulation, once we’re allowed to gather. Will we need to build ourselves up, just like weight training?

Will we suffer some weird psychological pull to home during a fortnight in the sun, once we’re eventually allowed to travel. I might. I’ve always been a home bird, but I do wonder if I’ll have separation anxiety now from my crafts, comforts and pottering.

Queuing for the toilets will also feel strange, especially when we’re jammed in the doorway, in that space between corridor and the lavs – that space where you have one foot against the door behind you, and your arm is stretched to hold the door in front open, while someone passes under your pit, uncomfortably close, on their way out.

Changing rooms at the shops. They’ll feel strange now too. And the opticians; the dentist; Christmas markets; departing the train at Cardiff Central.

I’ve not thought about any of these things in depth, and now they’re flooding my mind, and all because cake has become the norm around here.


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