I didn't want to get up that Tuesday. Upon opening my eyes I saw how light it was in my room, and dimly recognised the sound of my curtains flapping in the sea breeze. Rays of sunlight gently dropped through the glass beads that were embedded in the curtains and shattered. Colour splattered all over the room, and shimmered as the curtains lazily danced in the wind. Only my head was above the duvet, yet my entire body was just slightly too cold. Those early May days are when the heat of summer finally rears its shining head after eight months of hibernation, but the chilly springtime mornings still remain. I could see the tip of my nose was runny and red, and it tingled in the cold. I pulled the covers over my ears, but left my face out in the open. The bracing air was a perfect way to wake up in the morning.
Upon finally getting out of my bed, I found that I was indeed just as bored as I was yesterday. I made myself a breakfast of a slice of cheese and a kiwi fruit, with a side of a lukewarm coffee that I'd almost forgotten to drink. After that it was medication, and into the shower in an attempt to wash away all the self-loathing I had accrued since this time yesterday - or whenever it was that I last showered. Once in the shower, I lamely kicked an empty beer can out from under my feet and let the water wash over me as I leant with my head against the wall.
What is the point? I thought to myself.
The coronavirus was spreading. While the world was grinding to a halt around me, I found it increasingly difficult to relate to all of those worried billionaires and scheming politicians. Industries were collapsing the world over, and economies were imploding. The true scale of this pandemic was incomprehensible to a worker bee like myself. I just did what I was told. As a waitress I was one of the first to be out of a job, though at least I was furloughed. Without that meagre income, I'd have in a far worse position. Thankfully my problems were few, I was just getting more and more bored, and more and more in need of some warm arms to fall asleep in.
I've had periods of life where I've had to experience prolonged loneliness, but never the sort of isolation I was in during lockdown. My own home suddenly felt like a prison cell, the curtains like steel bars over my windows, and the front door daring me to break free. In the grander scheme of things however, I was very lucky. I had a roof over my head, a semi-considerate landlord who wasn't pressing me for rent (even if he creeped me the fuck out otherwise), I could afford food and other necessities, and - perhaps most importantly at a time such as this - I had many means of distracting myself.
"Haaaaahhh" I sighed. Water ran over my hair and down my body. My walnut locks were pasted to my body; I dreaded the thought of drying them. It came down to just above my nipples, and at this point I was seriously considering shaving the whole lot off.
By the time I'd gathered up the gumption to wash my hair, the water was cold. Thus ended my shower. At this point I was thoroughly displeased with the way my day was progressing. The childlike wonder I'd felt upon waking up to a room of sparkling lights had been washed quickly away by the reality of my situation. When I sat down in front of the TV at midday, I realised that I needed something to make the day a little easier to bear. After having to confront my alcoholic tendencies in the shower this morning, my appetite for beer was low. I turned away from the dozen or so empty cans on the kitchen counter as disgust welled up inside me.
I was now forced to confront the fact that I had immediately turned to alcohol in my search for relief from what was really just a slightly sub-par morning. Within seconds I had managed to rationalise away this shocking lapse in self-respect by bottling up the indignant thoughts I felt towards myself and saving it for later. Whenever later was.
For the time being I opened the door onto the balcony, took one step outside, and then rushed back in for a hat or some sunglasses. Upon seeing that my body had started treating sunlight like some foreign invader, I realised I hadn't opened the curtains for days. I decided to drag out a chair from the kitchen and then proceeded to get sunburnt after trying to tan my legs for 30 minutes in the lazy, early-May heat. As my skin began to turn redder and redder, I became less and less enthusiastic about the luxury of a balcony which caught the sun so nicely.
