Since my incarceration began back in March I have noticed I am losing the art of conversation. And not only am I losing the ability to converse but also the interest to converse. I have become quite content with my own company and methinks this is probably not that healthy. I can easily fill my day with dog walks, yoga, reading, housework, baking and Netflix. In fact, some days there isn’t even enough time to call a friend.
Take today it is already Friday afternoon and it was only yesterday that it was last Friday, and I have only succeeded in getting dressed and walking the dog. Really quite baffling the speed in which the days are passing. The only positive is that hopefully it won’t seem that long then before we get a vaccine. And I shall be fighting to get to the front of the line. I have absolutely no qualms about taking it. Despite the claims that the coronavirus pandemic is a cover for a plan to implant trackable microchips and that the Microsoft co-founder Bill Gates is behind it. Quite frankly Gates is very welcome to my brain!
I think getting out into the real world again is paramount for my sanity. I became particularly worried the other night when in bed I found myself saying “good night Roma, sleep well.” And even more alarming when I heard myself answering, “thank you, you too.”
I am told it is healthy to talk to yourself but there is probably a happy medium and I might just be overstepping this mark. Before even emerging from bed I was conversing with my clothes about which jumper would be the cosiest for this cold morning. Luckily the jumper didn’t respond. I could say it is because Tod isn’t here anymore but who am I kidding I have been talking to myself since around the age of 5 when I would invent a whole host of imaginary friends. My dolls took on human qualities and would take up so much room in my bed that I would end up sleeping on the floor so as not to crowd them.
I vaguely remember a doctor’s appointment when my mother, worried about my incessant chatter with these imaginary friends, asked whether it was normal. I can’t remember what he said although Dr Rodker the family GP always had the same answer to everything ‘probably a bit of infection there’.
So now, alone for most of the day, especially as Toby and Linda have moved downstairs and created a mini flat so they can redeem semi normal life without worrying about infecting me, I have even more time to discuss the intricacies of life with Roma. And I have to say Roma can be brutally honest about my short comings. Afterall she knows me better than anybody else. No cover ups there. But I am trying though to be a bit kinder and more empathetic to myself.
I too have now become an armchair Goggle Box critic except unlike Anne and Ken or Giles and Mary or Jenny and Lee it is just Roma and Roma. So, it’s not quite as much fun. Take watching I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here – there is no one to tell me when the gory bits are over. So, I have to hide behind my hands and just peek through my fingers hoping I don’t catch anything too gross.
This week however we took a few risks so we could continue the shared Bake Off experience. It was a bit surreal Toby and Linda at opposite ends of the lounge masked , with the French windows open. It was Laura versus Herminie whose showstopper was a bit of a shocker. Such a shame for the patisseries queen – everything was wrong, the look, the taste, the texture. But good news for Laura the messiest baker on the show.
So, what’s on my weekend agenda. Interestingly the two-day weekend is a relatively new phenomena apparently it was in part born from another economic crisis. During the 1930’s Depression many industries hadn’t adopted the 40-hour workweek and they cut employees back to five days a week, so that fewer working hours could be distributed among more people. By 1938, the 40-hour workweek was enshrined into law with the Fair Labour Standards Act. I suppose it remains to be seen if things will change post COVID.
Anyway, on my weekend there is still Netflix The Crown to be watched, leaves strewn across my garden to be cleared, Bamboo and plants to be replanted, the new gardener will not be asked back! A Polenta cake to be baked and of course the daily dog walks. Now you can understand why I haven’t been blogging.
ELet’s be careful out there”
2 thoughts on “Talking to oneself”
Pick up the phone – happy to chat!
Where is the building you had at the bottom of the garden?
Thank you – dismantled