Brain in Lockdown

This week has been less of the ‘Dunkirk spirit’ and more of the ‘Dunnowhatdayitisanymore Spirit’. I have recurring nightmares involving me, my nightwear and a desperate attempt to get the bins out before missing the collection. Not only does my brain no longer recognise the difference between Monday and Thursday, it can’t seem to find where I put things either. My initial joy at finally being less stressed out has waned as I become increasingly annoyed with myself for not being able to remember anything. The old grey cells appear to have gone into lockdown.

In my attempts to keep the synapses sparking, I have decided to spread jobs out over the weeks ahead instead of doing everything at once. My to-do list which includes grooming two very hairy woofers, Googling Winnebago sellers, cleaning the outdoor furniture to pack away, washing the bifold door windows (this is not an enjoyable task, I have yet to find a product that doesn’t leave smears), retrying the false nail thing and fixing my front tooth. The last two operations have already been attempted once and whilst I have come to the conclusion that I will never be a dental or nail technician, they are necessary and lengthy practices. My first go at cementing my front tooth back in place ( one should not use one’s teeth to open a plastic seal ) went well until I discovered that the instructions said nothing about not eating Doritos after fixing. Thankfully there are 3 vials of cement, the manufacturer’s idea of 3rd time lucky me thinks. As for the nails, gel is much more difficult than acrylic let me tell you although mercifully easier to get off. Still both jobs entertained my stress molecules for a good few hours yesterday especially when I couldn’t find where I had hidden my tooth and the corresponding vials and who knew nail polish was basically impossible to get off anything that isn’t a nail?

At least the weather has started to recognise the seasonal calendar. However, the lack of noise that normally comes with a sunny day in London is eerie. Not that I like listening to other people’s ideas of volume control on their music systems whilst they wait at the traffic lights but it is something one gets used to. The same goes for screaming kids and the smell of BBQ’s and I kind of miss them. As I tap the keys of my beloved Macbook with my no nail nails, something else has grabbed me. My dogs are quiet. There isn’t anything to bark at. They are sprawled out in the Sunday sun perfectly content with life as it is, I mean it’s not as though they have to plan their days or even remember what a Monday after Sunday feels like. Right now, I don’t suppose I need to either except when the bins need to go out…

“The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment.” (Robert Falcon Scott)