Covid Chronicles: Isolation Day 2

I wake up at 2am. No amount of reading will coax consciousness from me. 6:30 Yoga with sunrise. 8am Walk on the pool deck. The pool taunts me as I go past to the deck outside, perfectly still. I fantasise about diving in, ripples butterflying to the edges. They can’t tackle you if you’re already in the water, right? Teeeeeeeechnically there’s no sign on the pool door saying you’re NOT allowed… I reckon I could swim with a mask on if I really tried.

I come back, do my HIIT 10 minute workout. Jared calls and we have good chats about his work, and do the standard ‘I miss you’s and ‘I love you’s and ‘So what did you wank to today?’s. I torment him (and myself) with showing him how beautiful, warm, and sunny it is in Auckland today. What I wouldn’t give to be at a beach right now! Jared says it’s -3 degrees at the moment. I give myself an imaginary high five on escaping the fridge that is Ireland.

I have discovered that washing one’s own clothes in the bath is quite easy, and almost like an additional little bonus workout. Fill bath with warm water, add a scoop of washing powder, swirl around a few times and give the dirty bits a bit of a scrub together, rinse twice, stomp on them to get water out, wring them dry, and hang out. Quite satisfactory. Good time suck. Productive. And, as it’s delightfully warm today – everything dries really quickly.

I giggle to myself as I wonder how many people can see my underwear drying on the window sill. I bet the pervy towel-clad guy looking lecherously at people walking around the pool deck would enjoy such an indiscretion. Creep.

I have also discovered to my horror that the bath plug doesn’t actually stop water leaving the bath in any demonstrable way. Fuck. How am I supposed to have a nightly bath now?

Nurses come around about 11 am to check my temperature, and try to make small talk. I am halfway through ordering a Shakti Mat. This is presently giving me all-consuming purpose so I give monosyllabic answers, and quickly continue my research.

I get an email from my credit card company asking if it was me that made all these purchases and had my card been stolen? I reassure them that yes, it is in fact me, and they should continue to indulge my spending spree. 

I have managed to ration the dip to make it last 2 days. Deeply regret not getting lemons. But it is still delicious. I realise how poor a substitute sour cream has been when compared to the real Reduced Cream. Food of champions. How bad is it if I go through a packet of chips + dip a day? Should probably try and eek it out a little more than that. 

In my snack hierarchy, chips and dip are obviously first. Next, the NZ camembert cheese – the delightfully unstinky kind – with crackers and slices of tomato. Whittaker’s chocolate is a close third, and then the feijoa smoothie, well, I just take a sip every time I go to the fridge really. I have gotten myself a good stash of hummus and veg so I can have healthy snacks. As predicted, the hummus and veg is still safely in the fridge.

I begin to wonder if my friends have a timetable of who is calling when – they’re doing a very good job of spacing themselves out. Talk to Jared in the morning, then Jaime calls at lunch time, then chat to Mum for a few hours while she’s working in the afternoon. My cousin in Melbourne calls early evening, just as I was about to chill with a book for a while. What a pleasant diversion.

My inner administrator is gnawing away at my enjoyment of catching up with friends, commanding me to proceed immediately to the very important work that NEEDS to be done – I have loads of half-finished blog posts to edit, a book to finish, plans to make, myriad boring emails to respond to, and Dropbox filing to do. That voice that says TV and crosswords are a waste of time, and you should be doing something useful, noteworthy, more noble with your time. 

I wonder how many other people in my hotel, lockdowns around the world, or in Isolation across the country, are struggling to silence their inner administrator, that stalwart siren that demands fealty and obedience. Annoyingly, this voice is usually right about what ‘should’ be done, in a very dull, boring, adulting, kind of way. Not an overly fun pandemic asset though, and, I think, robs me of what enjoyment one could have in Isolation. 

I tell my administrator to fuck off, and have a virtual wine with my cuz. 

With dinner, my paperwork arrives for my Covid test tomorrow. I need to give permission for the test, and also give information about where I am staying after I leave here, and say how I’m getting there. (There’s an option for a complimentary Skybus pass to get back to the airport) I’ve only been in the country 48 hours. I have not fully formulated a plan just yet! I get to work on hitting up my Auckland friends with couches or backyard caravans. 

By 7pm, I’m done with the day and nestle into bed, reading ‘On Palestine’, a transcript of an interview with Noam Chomsky and Ilan Peppe. I’ll let the administrator have a ‘noble’ chapter to shut her up. I crash at 8pm, with the light still on.