Thirteen days ago I drank a can of Dutch Courage- a hibiscus and cherry flavored elixir spiked with 5mg of CBD compliments of my gym the day it shut its doors for the indefinite future. When I woke up dazed in the late afternoon four hours later, I reconciled the dozey episode to a mild cannabidiol intoxication.
But then it happened again the next day even after I'd slept twice the number of hours as usual the night before and had no dutch courage in my system. When I slammed myself into the shower I came aware that I could barely smell the shampoo i pay extortionate amounts for if only to sense its hypnotic fragrance. Then when my dinner was tasteless I realized what was happening...
I live with another doctor so was conscious that the eventuality of getting infected by SARS-CoV-2 was more likely a life outcome for me than an engagement that actually progresses to marriage. I just didn't think it was going to happen so soon. I had been extremely vigilant with social distancing and hygiene long before it was cool. I had even stopped taking the free samples of pizza my local bakery puts out on offer to the public every night. Although I cannot confirm my diagnosis because testing in this country is still overwhelmingly limited to hospitalized patients and male political figures, my clinical suspicion remains high.
What I can say for certain is that twelve days have passed and only today could I finally slightly taste my revolting multivitamin and smell my afternoon poo. Or maybe it was the other way around. Smell and taste are tough to tell apart. But what's so mind numbing about it is that while I could have capitalized on the opportunity to eat cardboard for two weeks and get a little bit skinny, my boredom amidst extreme social isolation landed me instead in a compulsive food eating habit where I constantly aim to test whether my capacity to register flavor has returned. And I don't mean from one day to the next, but from one bowl of cereal after the other.
The news headlines these days are weird and basically unreadable. Today in the BBC:
- a man is jailed for claiming he has COVID-10 and coughing on a police officer
- Stacy's Mom songwriter dies at 52 with coronavirus
- Man charged with bid to crash train into hospital ship
I don't even understand the syntax of that last point.
People stockpiling coke zero and toilet paper as if these were the things that were going to save them from damnation. I instead started stockpiling red wine and the most calorically dense ice cream i could find because if I'm gonna go, I might as well go down in a spiral of great pleasure.
Irony is all around. Found myself reading Esther Perel's Mating in Captivity today, which actually has nothing to do with the admittedly befitting title to our current state of affairs. I got a Brazilian wax just four days before the soft lockdown in anticipation of an imminent trip to Thailand which ended up being canceled by Thailand itself but not by British Airways who as if to add insult to injury upgraded me for free the morning of the flight that I never boarded. And now who is going to see my wax? Nobody! Because I am a responsible socially isolated human and anyway as my friend Sharon has said to me lately- it's better to be in bed with coronavirus than with an asshole.
You know how when you're bored you keep getting up to look in the fridge just to see if there's anything new in there even though you know you haven't been to the shop in the last ten minutes since you last opened it? I am now applying the same pattern of behavior to my events calendar- constantly opening up iCal and scrolling for plans. Plans for tomorrow? nope. The weekend? nope. Next Week? still no plans. Next month? nothing. 2024? completely empty. There are no plans anywhere. Why is it that the first time I am really forced into mindfulness is also the most boring and uneventful time of my life?
*checks iCal again*
*checks iCal again*
Shout out to the universe though for letting me keep my job, and for being fortunate enough to be able to work from home during these uncertain times. My flatmate who cannot conceive of the idea of intubating someone from the living room has not fully comprehended the concept of me being at work when I'm dressed only from the waist up, and on the sofa with my headphones, but at least she's stopped wandering behind my screen naked en route to fire up the kettle while I'm on a video call with my team.
Stay safe and in love people, and courageous like the dutch.
