I should probably address the missing and/or late days in this blog.
When I started this blog it wasn’t meant to be a daily thing. It just became that. And it stayed like that for years and years and I wrote something daily for well over 1000 days and all was good. It’s not quite like that anymore, because things are very different at the moment.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but not a lot happens at the moment. Lockdown isn’t even as exciting as it once may have been. It’s just, now, the limbo before a return to work in six weeks. Assuming, of course, that all manner of new strains don’t pour in from Europe and the rest of the world like tea through a strainer in the next month or so.
Or that we don’t just all suffocate under the huge amounts of litter left behind by all the bellends who are – and who would have predicted this – behaving fucking ridiculously with various lifts in lockdown ruling.
But other than that, there’s not a lot to talk about or write about or whatever. Sometimes it’s good to write about my mental state or things that we have done, other times it’s just hard to get a word count of anything worthwhile to even post. So it’s definitely got harder over the past few months. And it’s probably not going to get much easier until the world reopens or, at least, I’m back at work and venturing into the established craziness of a post-lockdown world.
I’m really looking forward to writing my blog on the whatever it is of June when all the social distance restrictions are lifted. Because you know I’m going to have a late shift at work and town is going to be an absolute clusterfuck of people losing their shit. I can’t wait.
I mean, I can.
I can definitely wait. But I’m willing to bet that’s an exciting bus ride home. Or an exciting wait for the bus at the very least.
So I’m not going to write as much over the next few weeks. I will more do it as and when the mood strikes, rather than force myself to put finger to key when I have nothing to say. If I keep trying to coming up with things to ramble on about for a few hundred words, then there’s a danger these posts will become about my mental health and the damage I’m doing to it myself by trying to force myself to write things.
Basically, what I’m saying is that now is not the time – and it hasn’t been for a while, in all honesty – for daily internet based ramblings about my life and what’s happening in it. Because nothing’s happening in it of any great note.
Not to mention the fact that Peppa has, over the past year of lockdown, really taken a hatred to anyone typing anything at this table and quite a lot of the time it’s hard to write anything without the danger of losing a finger. We ended up with some Frubes on a weekly shop a while back because Peppa ordered them while trying to attack me.
These are interesting times.
If you’re not writing a daily blog, that is.