It’s four o’clock in the afternoon and I don’t know where today has gone. Waking at seven, I did the usual walk, my Monday Skype lesson with Maddy, cooked and ate garlic mushrooms for brunch, worked on the computer, watched the news, then sat a little in the sun before planting out the sweet peas and chopping down some more privet. The hours have flown and even as I’m typing, I’m watching the clock to see if it’s time to phone Mum for our daily chat.
There are still a number of things I need to do, the most important of which is to get back to my story plan for the next adventure of Letty Parker. Will I fit them in? Who knows?
The nature of time has always fascinated me. I write time slip novels and one of my favourite books is “The Children of Green Knowe” by LM Boston where time apparently has no boundaries and a number of different centuries seem to exist in the same place.
Time in lockdown has rules of its own. When I look at the posts in my Diary of a Pandemic file I see that today is day thirty-eight. Part of me can’t believe we’ve been living like this for so long, another part finds it hard to remember what we did before lockdown. It seems an endless stretch that just goes on and on.
And yet the days fly past. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day to fit everything in.
Is this the mind’s way of protecting itself from the reality of our situation?