Day 2 of Home Self-Isolation - 22/03/20
If we close our eyes and play some carols throughout the house, this pandemic could almost feel like the Christmas holidays, another time of year when we’re all enclosed in the house together as a family. It’s not so bad really, but then again I quite like my family, at least in small, sizeable doses. It is only day 2, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
My dad is cooking a Sunday Roast downstairs (which is basically a Christmas Dinner - kind of?), my brother is relaxing in the bath and my stepmum is out at a hair appointment; a laborious effort which has taken all day and which she was preparing her afro hair for the night before. Part of me wonders why she goes through the effort when the reality is that we’ll be trapped inside with minimal external contact with anybody for the next few months. It reminds me of ‘las abuelas’ in virtually every small village in Spain with more peluquerias than supermarkets - all dressed up and nowhere to go. Perhaps as time proceeds, working class families will begin to imitate aristocratic Austen-esque models of ‘dressing for dinner’ in our own homes as some sort of recompense for no longer being able to dine out. Although I am painfully aware that this in itself is a middle-class privileged fantasy - a girl can dream.
On the other hand, if we are to approach this pandemic as a pause and therefore as time we don’t normally allow ourselves, to look after ourselves and take the time to do things we actually enjoy, why shouldn’t she spend the day getting a new do? Maybe I’m just bitter because my hair appointment on Tuesday was cancelled; selfishly, the fact that the whole country is also unable to make their aesthetic pamper appointments makes me feel a little bit better about my roots which no matter how hard I try, I definitely cannot pass off as ombré.
I’ve seen a lot of things on social media platforms which seem to me so typically human, about people viewing this period of enforced self-isolation as a time of productivity and self-improvement when really, maybe we shouldn’t put so much pressure on ourselves to constantly strive to be better. Perhaps it’s ok, at least for a little while, to just relax and treat ourselves kindly. Clearly my brother, having had a stressful and busy final year thus far in university, has got this down to an art: the bathroom is candle-lit and the vague sounds of some sort of ‘headspace’ podcast drift through the closed door. He himself seems to be going through some sort of experimental creative phase. Yesterday I came downstairs to the sight of him buzz cutting all of his hair off - leaving him with a slightly monkish appearance. I can’t tell if my dad and brother are ironically trying to reinvent themselves, but it is only day 2 and they’re both sporting bald heads and turtle necks. I’m slightly weary that they’re going to start writing essays on the condition of man as an existential being and smoking a pipe. In their defence, everyone seems to be embracing their inner creative and indeed yesterday we did all find ourselves sat round the dining room table etching away in our sketch pads - who do we think we are?
On the other hand, if we are to approach this pandemic as a pause and therefore as time we don’t normally allow ourselves, to look after ourselves and take the time to do things we actually enjoy, why shouldn’t she spend the day getting a new do? Maybe I’m just bitter because my hair appointment on Tuesday was cancelled; selfishly, the fact that the whole country is also unable to make their aesthetic pamper appointments makes me feel a little bit better about my roots which no matter how hard I try, I definitely cannot pass off as ombré.
I’ve seen a lot of things on social media platforms which seem to me so typically human, about people viewing this period of enforced self-isolation as a time of productivity and self-improvement when really, maybe we shouldn’t put so much pressure on ourselves to constantly strive to be better. Perhaps it’s ok, at least for a little while, to just relax and treat ourselves kindly. Clearly my brother, having had a stressful and busy final year thus far in university, has got this down to an art: the bathroom is candle-lit and the vague sounds of some sort of ‘headspace’ podcast drift through the closed door. He himself seems to be going through some sort of experimental creative phase. Yesterday I came downstairs to the sight of him buzz cutting all of his hair off - leaving him with a slightly monkish appearance. I can’t tell if my dad and brother are ironically trying to reinvent themselves, but it is only day 2 and they’re both sporting bald heads and turtle necks. I’m slightly weary that they’re going to start writing essays on the condition of man as an existential being and smoking a pipe. In their defence, everyone seems to be embracing their inner creative and indeed yesterday we did all find ourselves sat round the dining room table etching away in our sketch pads - who do we think we are?
To be honest, the day has been spent relatively productively - so much so that I really do think university was curbing my fecundity a little bit. Maybe it was the oppressive structure of an elitist and overly-demanding education system which bludgeons any piece of literature written and read purely for enjoyment and makes students feel inferior if their intelligence does not comply completely with the standards of controlled assessment throughout the country. Or maybe it was something else - whose to say?
My dad and brother and I have been on a walk after I’d cooked us brunch and me and Tony had been on an early morning run. The way the pair of them talk about the sun and the sky and ‘the feel of the grass beneath our feet’ as if we’ll never be able to go outside again seems to me quite ridiculous. Then again, maybe they have a point. No one really knows how bad the situation is going to get, despite Britain being a few weeks or so behind most other European countries like France and Italy. Once again, our government has reacted in a painfully delayed manner, giving the nation far too much credit for our ability when it comes to actually battling this global pandemic.
Later on in the evening, my dad came into my room just as I was busy translating ‘The Diary of Anne Frank’, making some witty comment about the irony given our current situation. You never know, maybe we could pick up some tips, although I’ve just gotten to the part where the two families have started arguing about vegetables, which certainly doesn’t bode well for the next few months. Still, on the positive side, at least the biggest thing we have to fear is the flu and a bit of inconvenience, rather than being stormed by nazis at any given moment.
My dad and brother and I have been on a walk after I’d cooked us brunch and me and Tony had been on an early morning run. The way the pair of them talk about the sun and the sky and ‘the feel of the grass beneath our feet’ as if we’ll never be able to go outside again seems to me quite ridiculous. Then again, maybe they have a point. No one really knows how bad the situation is going to get, despite Britain being a few weeks or so behind most other European countries like France and Italy. Once again, our government has reacted in a painfully delayed manner, giving the nation far too much credit for our ability when it comes to actually battling this global pandemic.
Later on in the evening, my dad came into my room just as I was busy translating ‘The Diary of Anne Frank’, making some witty comment about the irony given our current situation. You never know, maybe we could pick up some tips, although I’ve just gotten to the part where the two families have started arguing about vegetables, which certainly doesn’t bode well for the next few months. Still, on the positive side, at least the biggest thing we have to fear is the flu and a bit of inconvenience, rather than being stormed by nazis at any given moment.
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