Lost Enthusiasm

I hate losing things. If I was asked to write a list of my most annoying traits, my ability to misplace items would top it followed by my extreme meltdowns at doing so. The other day, I couldn’t find my house keys and I almost reduced myself to tears as I upturned any remaining furniture only to find them in an umbrella. The fact that said umbrella was perched directly under the key hook might have made it a good place to start but my lockdowned brain obviously couldn’t process that, it just went into scream mode instead. Losing one’s house key, albeit temporarily, is right up there with mislaying one’s mobile phone. How often have you used the home phone line to call your mobile, praying that it hasn’t run out of battery or that you’ve turned the volume down? However, misplaced keys and other necessary items pale into comparison to losing your enthusiasm. And this week, it’s been nowhere to be found.

In conversation with friends last night on one of the many amazing technological advances called Houseparty (I’m sure others are wonderful too but I can just about work this one), one of my girls announced that she was going back to work next week, virtual teaching so to speak but nevertheless she was returning to her job. Sort of. I honestly never thought I would be as envious as I was at that moment, after all I couldn’t wait to retire but I was. The initial wave of excitement at having time on my hands to do all those activities I listed has all but vanished. As the weeks of self-isolation merge into a beige mist, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to locate that boundless enthusiasm for the future. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who, much as I hate to admit to, misses the day to day work life when we actually looked forward to the weekend.

In my search for the misplaced zeal, I decided that as my dogs have to be on lead as per the park’s new guidelines we were going to walk to the local green space instead of the quick drive up. Well, not all of them but the early morning five and I could all get some extra exercise and the woofers would hopefully be at least slightly worn out in the process. Naturally the four-legged fivesome were thrilled with the prospect of a change in routine but I hadn’t quite realised how logistically difficult the exercise was going to be. Having a dog trainer as Mum has taught them all to walk nicely on lead but I hadn’t foreseen the problem of different leg length. You see, Arry has very long legs and so a long stride but Yogi Bear has very short legs (It’s a bear thing) so has a short stride. Alice, although small, likes to walk right next to Arry of course and I have to Neo in the middle lest he might lunge at an unsuspecting but non social distance conforming jogger. I did point out to said jogger that Neo’s lead was only about a metre long by the way. And our blessed Simi calmly trots by my side as if she is the only dog being walked. I now have a very sore neck and I’m sure all those yoga mantras about keeping the hips in line have gone to waste with one arm being dragged behind and the other attempting to control four leads at once. And of course, if one stops to sniff, the others follow suit which can often end up with one being pulled into a bush. Still, it does use up extra time during the day which leaves less time to miss that lost enthusiasm. Do you think physiotherapists are classed as essential?

“What do dogs do on their day off?; Can’t lie around – that’s their job!” ( George Carlin)