March 16th 2020
Today was my last full day working in the office for the foreseeable future. I’ve gotta go in tomorrow to have one final debrief meeting, grab my laptop monitors, and then I’m working from home until this whole ‘global pandemic’ thing blows over. The official advice from the government is to stay home wherever possible, and not to leave your house unless absolutely necessary. And that’s a weird sentence to have to write.
Honestly, if I think about it too much it’ll induce a panic attack, because usually if I have a panic attack it’s because of an overwhelming sense of “this isn’t real life” — and right now this doesn’t really feel like real life any more. It was all a bit of a joke to begin with, except it was never particularly funny. Now, the next 3-6 months of my life are going to be spent indoors, in my flat, as I try to avoid dying from a virus that will infect over half of the global population.
Like, seriously, what the fuck was that for a sentence. That’s not a sentence that I should ever have to write, but here I am, writing it, with real words in a real sentence. This isn’t fiction. I don’t think.
The more rational side of my brain understands that this a temporary measure, and that most likely there will come a time when this whole period of our lives is a “hey, remember when…?” moment rather than a cultural-shifting/world-ending/era-defining (delete as appropriate based on your current belief) event.
I don’t know. It’s hard to think much bigger than my immediate bubble. In my immediate bubble I still want to go into work and see my friends and go to the pub and get drunk and live my life, but life is fucking weird now. There’s so much weird shit that, like, is this the real life? Well, yes. But reality is just shit now.
Until tomorrow, caught in a landslide.