My Friday morning was spent stocking up on real groceries in the pandemic pandemonium that has taken hold of this planet. I even took a shopping list: ingredients for favourite recipes, and a lot of staples (yes, I even purchased more toilet paper).
Then I waited in a horrendously long line with everybody else.
I decided Friday that I wasn’t going to listen to the radio. I bought a newspaper, but it rest in my packsack the entire day. I caught a bit of the shit on social media, but tried to ignore what I knew was going on everywhere. I certainly knew nothing was getting any better.
Saturday, I continued to tune out.
No radio, no television.
More time. Less worries.
I needed a break from all that has been going around me, from hearing about what everyone else is doing, and being told what I should or shouldn’t do.
I already knew I was concerned, but knowing more about what was happening wasn’t going to make me any more aware, or comfortable, or curb the anxiety I was trying to avoid.
Today I’m not going to listen to the public radio news program I usually enjoy on Sunday mornings. What’s going to be said that I haven’t already thought?
I might glance through Friday’s newspaper, but more than likely I’ll continue reading a book a made a good dent on yesterday. Or I’ll listen to some music. Or nap.
It will be that kind of day on that kind of weekend.
Some might call it self-isolation. I’ll call it self-preservation.