Lockdown: Day 13
Mood: Grumpy
Dear Powers-that-be,
I'm supposed to be going away next weekend.
I don't go away very often.
My cat is supposed to be going to stay with Auntie Blarney and Uncle Barney's place.
I'm supposed to be going to see my Uncle's daughter on the anniversary of his passing at a regional town before going down to Apollo Bay for this writer's retreat.
And then, for the weekend, I'm supposed to be hanging out with a heap of very groovy and wonderful, like-minded people, talking writing, feminism and other stuff. I know I'm not allowed to take part in the 80's quiz (because I'm a bit good at 80's music trivia) and then there's the required skinny dip on Sunday morning - which strangely, is the very best thing about these weekends away - and who knew running naked into the Southern Ocean in the middle of Winter could feel so good?
But at the moment, we're not allowed out of the metropolitan area - just required to go no more than 25 kilometres from home. And yeah, I get it. At least from Friday we don't have to wear masks outside. And at least more shops will be open. And I can get my legs waxed.
But the gym will still be closed.
And I'm thankful that I can still go to Blarney's place as she is my bubble buddy.
But I still want to know if I can go away next weekend.
Okay, it does look like I might be able to go have lunch with my Uncle's daughter - but it is a very long way to drive for lunch.
I know it will all work out in the end - even if the writer's retreat is postponed for a few weeks.
And maybe soon we won't have to look out for the daily pressers. You guys are doing a great job under horrid conditions. And Brett Sutton is still thinking woman's crumpet. I could take a flame thrower to the right wing journos who think themselves epidemiologist, however... I turn off when they start dribbling their bile.
Still.
Fuck COVID.
Thank you for keeping us as safe as you can - even if I'm a bit pissed off.
Lots of love,
Pandora
Today's Song:
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