A week is a long time in isolation. Perhaps it’s the change in routine, the ease with which you can forget the day or date. It feels longer than the month it has been.
I’m not much of a one for change – certainly not for sudden changes to my life or routine – and normally I like time to adjust. But it’s interesting how quickly we can adjust to change, if we need to. Perhaps it’s because we haven’t really had time to think about. At least, I don’t feel like I did: there was talk on a Friday about home-working being a possibility, and then on the following Tuesday I was sent home. The Monday following that, Britain went into “lockdown” (except, of course, that we haven’t all been locked into our homes). And now I’m on furlough. Sometimes, things happen quickly.
Of course, it helps that life in isolation plays to my lazy, unsociable strengths (maybe that’s why I adjusted so quickly – because, for me, it’s a good change: I get to stay at home). I’m glad of our balcony, though, especially on sunny days, and the park just up the road.
What I find really interesting, though, is the passage of time. Normally, on a day off or at the weekend, time seems to go oh-so-fast, but the days now seem to have a more moderate pace. They can be savoured, and filled with slow activities, like reading by the book rather than chapter. Perhaps because there’s no rush – there’s nowhere we need to be and no one we need to see.
I know, there are lots of people out there advocating productive uses of our time – learn new skills, read your way through that BBC list everyone should read, blah blah. To “make the most” of this unexpected time off. And, to some extent, that is my intention. I have some plans to be productive.
But I also have plans to relax. To sit and think. To nap if I feel so inclined.