We’ve all seen those blogs and videos of some absolute machines, who get up at 3am, have one green tea for subsistence and bash out about eight hours of work, while also running a small resin business and going for a 20k runs every day. This is not going to be one of those (although my grades and parents wish it was). Boredom is striking hard and fast and I’ve done everything from a 2014 ‘Tumblr Girl’ neon pink dip dye to making an apple crumble that no one will eat. And now the gang of twelve-year olds have been arrested, I can’t even spice up my day with stories of their cute tween behaviour, nor see them chatting nonsense to people on the street. If I was so inclined, I could join my housemates in their delicate paintings of various album covers, which now adorn the wall in a beautiful and careful mosaic. However, I am as creative as a Fresher stacking their empty vodka bottles in a row, which is to say: not at all. Instead, I am detailing my highs and lows of being mostly sat inside.
9:30am: The silverfish in my bed wake me up, after we’ve spooned all night, which is nice of them. Not. I haven’t been able to drop off without feeling something scurrying over me, since I caught a massive one (think: three centimetres) making itself at home on my pillow. Don’t we just love Hyde Park landlords?
10:00am: TikTok scroll. If you ever see my TikTok, no you haven’t. Shh.
10:30am: Breakfast completed with much credit to uni for sending us a million packets of porridge when we had to isolate. I normally start work now as my dissertation is refusing, most annoyingly, to write itself. The Business School is lovely to go to if you fancy getting out, but the pull of its Café Nero can be dangerous.
2pm: Walkie poos. Whether with a friend or with a podcast (the distressingly named ‘My Dad Wrote a Porno’ is exceptional). For my mental health I need to establish contact with the outdoors, otherwise my SAD and sleep would go mental. Burley Park and the forest behind James Baillie are always nice, particularly as the latter has horsies. For those with access to a car, Chevin Forest is lovely to go thrashing around in, albeit not in white linen trousers as I discovered the hard way.
3:30pm: the early, encroaching darkness is what I find hard. I attempt to do work, but as darkness falls, so does my brain. The first lockdown I stressed myself a ridiculous amount as I felt like I should be learning a language or sewing or writing a memoir, which was fine to aim for apart from the fact I had zero motivation. Now I am a bit kinder to myself; if I’ve had a rough day and clocked off early, then the next day I usually feel a bit better and get more done than if I steamroller my feelings into one clump.
6pm: A quick twenty-minute exercise comprising of two videos off YouTube, otherwise my body image tries to fold in on itself and the mirror starts telling me I’m a mountain troll in disguise. The endorphins are pretty sick too.
7pm: Dinner and watching TV with the rest of the house.
It’s become very important for our house to have something to look forward to. Last week we did a Bottomless British Tapas. Think: sausage rolls, potato smileys, cocktail sticks and Italian sparkling wine in lieu of prosecco. This week we are embarking on couple’s ‘Come Dine with Me’ and next a themed ‘Napa night’.
My biggest lockdown lesson has been to check in with mine and other’s mental health. Being honest with myself and others has allowed issues that had been festering to be spoken about and, although not removed, made a tiny bit easier.
Header image credit: The Pen Company