Week seven, then week ten. The middle stretch of lockdown had its own texture… a mix of small wins and a particular kind of low-grade exhaustion that’s hard to describe unless you were in it.
Week seven was actually a good day.
I’d been championing a data science role at work for a while, pushing for it, making the case. When the opportunity came up I went all in. The thing that probably sealed it was a summary diagram I’d put together, focused not just on crunching data but on how that data gets communicated. I liked it. So did they.
I found out on the same day that a bit of rain clears the paths completely. Isaac and I went out anyway. We were damp but fine.
Week ten was a different mood entirely.
By then I was bored of the same walk in the nature reserve. Genuinely bored of it. The routine that had felt like an anchor in week one had become the thing I was tired of. Same path, same trees, same everything.
Isaac had powered through most of his school maths in about an hour. He’d cracked his times tables, forwards and backwards… except his twelves, but then who really uses their twelves. Steph had started taking him running in the mornings, which both of them seemed to enjoy.
The thing I was really struggling with was the disrupted work pattern. Starting at half seven, working through until lunch. Then Isaac, the walk, trying to get back online by three. By the time I’d cleared my emails and caught up, it was time to stop again. Never quite enough runway on either side.
First world Covid problems. I knew that even then.
But there’s something about the middle of a long, uncertain stretch that has its own weight. Not acute. Not dramatic. Just the particular grind of not knowing when normal is coming back, while trying to keep everything moving in the meantime.
We were all fine. It was all fine.
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Peace
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