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Scenes of Life – Week 006

I wonder what could have made her so emotional, memories of childhood, teases and failures echoing in her mind? She had been so eager and joyful when she had arrived. But I know, this means very little. I had been happy the day before when my anxiety had bubbled inside of me.

New cut river

Scenes of Life – Week 005

A waft of rubber and bicycle grease hits me as I step into the container. I am nearly thrown back from the smell, at once familiar and foreign. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Am I really going to be working here?

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Suburbia

The suburbs considered collectively, typically treated as if a distinct community or country with its own characteristic traits, mores, or way of life, esp. (depreciatively) characterized by a dull ordinariness and monotonous conformity; the inhabitants of the suburbs, or their way of life.

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Scenes of life – Week 003

My breath catches in my throat, trapped within my lungs. I look back at the fox, their ginger fur set alight. We stare at one another us, neither of us moving. In the quiet of the morning, neither of us expected the other’s presence. Footsteps muffled by the mist, echoes trapped in the air, we have both believed this place to be ours and ours alone.

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Scenes of life – Week 002

A car caught the sinking sunlight, the reflected glint blinding me. White spots flickered behind my closed eyelids. When I opened them again, their was one more balloon over the shopping centre, its figure small and distant.

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Scenes of life – Week 001

Back upstairs, I automatically spray my hands with sanitiser. I watch the motions of my fingers woven together, sliding along my palms and over my wrists. I am unable to understand how I feel. C.’s words finally reach my brain. So, we have come to the conclusion that we need to have a redundancy of one.

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#LockdownDiary – One of many – The Last Entry

I was paralysed, crippled by doubts and fears, unable to read, to write or focus on anything that was not a manual task. I remained afloat, my legs kicking frantically under water, my body unnaturally still above the water line until I gave in.

#LockdownDiary – One of many – Day 109

#LockdownDiary – One of many – Day 109

Day 109

Through the paths of the nature reserve, I walk alongside my friend and colleague. She is moaning about work, venting about all her woes about customers, management, and whatever else that is not right. I remember the first time I walked with her to work when lockdown restrictions where beginning to ease. I felt disconnected then, incapable of connecting to what she was saying. I wanting to talk about other things, about our life, about anxiety, about what had happened since we last saw each other on the 23rd of March. Our lives had been vastly different during those hard lockdown months. I had been free to use my time for me while she had been working from home, so it was only logical that she had plenty to say about this.

But today, I do not feel this disconnection. Work is still distant, something I used to do, something I will have to do again, but I feel closer to it. And as G. is ranting to me, I feel a connection to this long ago world. I remember the pressure of summer days when there was more work to do than employees to deal with it, when to-do lists could never be completed, and when the non-absolute essential tasks to the business were forgotten and relegated to the distant future days of winter.

By sharing our old rants, I feel a part of something, of a world starting again. As we reach the warehouse were our offices are, my manager wheels past on her bike, a grey figure clad in lycra blurring around the corner. She gets off her bike and wave at me from a distance.

‘Hey! I like your hair,’ she exclaims.

‘Oh yeah,’ I reply forgetting that nobody but G. at work has witnessed my new hairstyle. ‘Thanks.’

‘How are you doing,’ she asks concern in her voice. She is one of the few people at work I have shared my anxiety with.

‘Better,’ I reply honestly. I do not want to dive deeper into how better is still not good. Not on a parking lot.

‘Hey!’ I raise my head to see two of my other colleagues popping their heads out of the office window on the first floor.

‘Hey,’ I wave and beam at them, the sight of them lifting my heart. I am flooded with memories of banter, jokes, and eagerness as I see them.

‘Not too bored yet,’ one of them ask.

‘Not at all. I’ve got so many things on the go!’

‘Hey there.’

I turn around to see yet another colleague walking out of the warehouse to greet me.

‘How are things?’

‘Yeah, good,’ I reply again. ‘Though I’m sure I’ve forgotten everything about how to do my job,’ I laugh.

‘I know, paperwork is a nightmare, I can’t remember anything.’

We laugh, carry on talking for a while. My body is vibrating with motion, wanting to go forward, into the belly of the warehouse and let the dark blue shutter close behind me, swallowed in a world I didn’t think I missed. But I stay rooted to the spot, at the edge of the parking lot.

Eventually we all wave goodbye, smiles on our faces, and I walk away, back home. I do not turn my head as I step away, not until I have turned a corner and I can only see one side of the building, one where there are no windows or doors for anyone to see me.

I am smiling, aching to step inside still. This is not the work that I miss. This, I know is a nightmare at the moment, too much pressure applied on the too few people that have been brought back. I miss the people, my colleagues and friends that I have not seen in so long. I miss the banter and the laughs. I miss the rituals of phrases said a hundred times over, of complaining about my computer, and the silence of the first cup of tea of the morning. I miss moaning about customers, making fun of them to release the tension, and sharing a packet of biscuits or a box of chocolate to make it all better.

My eyes water with tears as I disappear into a side street that is leading me further away from my colleagues and closer to the four walls of my home. I wipe my eyes, feeling silly for the rising tears, and grab the camera out of my bag. There are no shots I want to take here, but it helps shifts my attention away from the people I miss. I still have some way to go before I am allowed back behind those dark blue shutters. Until then, time is mine to shape as I will, and for now, I want to take some pinhole photographs.

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#LockdownDiary – One of many – Day 108

#LockdownDiary – One of many – Day 108

Day 108

‘What about this colour,’ my partner asks.

‘I’m not sure,’ I reply unconvinced by the variation of white she shows me. ‘It just reminds me of those ugly pale colours in some schools and hospitals,’ I hasten to add as I notice my partner exasperated expression.

We have been talking about painting the walls of our home since we moved in back in September, but so far we have not been able to agree on colours.

‘What walls are we even going to paint?’

‘It depends,’ my partner answers. ‘It’s either we paint this one or those three others.’

I scan the living room, my eyes slowly taking in all the walls and corners. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’ We have designed the living room in a way that two of the corners accommodate some of our furniture, the sharp angle of the walls broken by the diagonal of a chair and a television.

‘So just the one wall,’ my partner ask.

‘I think so.’

We stare the wall where the dining table is. Next to it, a bookcase filled with books and paraphernalia stand tall, almost reaching the ceiling. Next to it, an old poster of a painting is framed, half hidden by a tall green plant I have taken to name George. The wall disappears quickly after that, hidden under the slants of the stairs.

‘Remember, we’re going to put Paris there,’ I say pointing to the empty white wall above the table.

‘Oh yeah. I’d forgotten. What colours is it again. Blue, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Blue and brown,’ I add. I google the painting of shepherd Paris by Van Dyck and show it to my partner.

She nods. Our gaze alternate between the wall and the samples of paint on the coffee table. ‘This one,’ I say, my fingers edging towards one of the pale blue.

‘Blue?’

‘I don’t know.’

I stare at the wall for a while longer, a sea of white. I am both daunted and excited about the idea of painting walls. This is the first house where this has been a choice. I am used to living between white walls. I don’t think about them. They are a fact of life.

‘This one,’ my partner points to a deep blue tinged with green.

‘Yeah, possibly.’

We highlight the name. ‘What about the other rooms?’

‘Let’s have a look at the prints we have for the stairs.’

We make our way to the study where I unearth the prints that have been hidden from the sun for months.

I lay them on the sofa bed, imagining them on the wall of the stairs as I go up and down everyday. My phone rings as I point to a colour. It is nearly time for Analogue Television and this week, I would like to see it live rather than on catch-up.

‘Can we leave that room until tomorrow? I’d like to watch my thing.’

‘Sure,’ my partner replies. I turn my laptop on, head over YouTube, and open the relevant live video. The countdown is ticking along, leaving me just enough time to make a cup of tea.