I've spent the last three Saturdays having breakfast alone at the McDonald's nearest to the flat.
I mean, why not? Shalla's usually asleep by this time, and I'd be too lazy to make breakfast for myself, since it's, you know, Saturday. I know, usually I look forward to making breakfast on weekends, particularly when we had a French toast phase, one which will surely come back around in a couple of months or so. But since I've been doing most of the cooking, I guess I miss the days when I can wake up and not do much for the first hour, and maybe for the second or third, too.
Since I wake up at five in the morning most days now, this means not eating anything until roughly half past eight. I'd be watching something on the television, maybe drinking some Milo, all that time. Sweep the floor - it's not a big flat, so it's done in ten minutes, and maybe I'd squeezed in some mopping, too. Take a shower, get clothed, and head to the grocery. Along the way, the McDonald's. See. It makes sense.
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The lockdowns began in the middle of March. I remember not thinking of summer, even if it was going to begin at the time, because it was starting to be clear that nobody was going anywhere.
Well, it's been almost six months - I think six months in two weeks' time.
As I said yesterday, by now we've just gotten used to it. There's brooding frustration, and perhaps anger too, but not much has come out of it, because, well, why would we? Would it really be worth it? What else are we left to do? What else are we allowed to do?
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