On Thinking On

The pandemic has added various items to the crowded space in Sherlock Holmes’ little room. Masks: is there one in my pocket, in the car, on my face? Turning down places I long to be, people I yearn to see, year on year, wondering if my friends will forget about me. Never go anywhere at noon: the casual approach persuades the public; the unmasked can’t be distinguished from the unvaccinated crowding your back. Nobody keeps records: you keep records, then ask yourself why? Testing stations close. Somebody’s doing the actuary on how many deaths are now ok. Lots more, think of that! Abandoned to the air.

As with all great plagues, economies duck and weave. Globalisation mugs us. Households falter; businesses fade. Dictatorships seize the moment to invade. No room in your mind for all the news. Stop pining for all the olds.

The pandemic provides a continual low-grade stream of anxiety. The feeling we ought to do something, control something, steady something. The minute you begin to relax, you want to go to sleep. You have to do more thinking as others do less. Not complaining; just sustaining.

Note to self: shoulders back! Don’t slouch! Keep on thinking on!