How’s Everyone Coping With The Latest COVID-19 Isolation Restrictions?

So…how’s everyone travelling?

YOU’RE NOT, I assume, and neither will you ever consider booking a cruise ever again, I would take a guess (if you’re of sound mind).

Photo by Curology on Unsplash

In the spirit of Gloria Gaynor, I am surviving, although as you can imagine, this is not a great time for hypochondriacs. Reassuringly, very little has really changed in our house, aside from an escalation in the toilet seat debate and some highly competitive stockpiling of toilet rolls in our own bathrooms.

Fortunately – and that is a serious downplay of that word in an uncharacteristic attempt at sensitivity – we don’t have young kids at home, and having worked at home together for some time, we are used to avoiding each other as much as possible within the strict, self-imposed boundaries of our home. But it’s funny how much this crisis has improved communication – in general.

It has certainly increased mine. Anyone who knows me well will be aware that I would rather have a mammogram than make a phone call, and yet I’ve been Messengering and WhatsApping like a Millennial over the past week – mainly in my attempts to keep tabs on anarchist, older members of my family.

My stepmother has reported back that my father is adhering to the new restrictions, much to my surprise. Apparently, he has taken an uncharacteristically sensible approach to isolation in spite of his disgust at the government’s decision to open the supermarkets to his age group between 9 and 10am – when he rarely surfaces before 10. I think the word he used was “unrealistic” in his description of a decision he believes is based on unfair stereotyping about old people being early risers.

Evidently, he’s not too worried about catching the virus, because ‘It’s only going to get the really old buggers” he tried to reassure me as I counted the hairs in his nostrils during our weekly video chat. And that’s why he put his chances of survival his the hands of alcohol rather than government restrictions and has upped his whisky consumption – “Just to be safe.”

Mind you, Dad has always been a pragmatist. I’m pretty sure he mentioned the same “more chance of getting run over by a bus” analogy during our conversation that he used to terrify me with during my childhood, hence, although he has always blamed my mother for my issues with anxiety, I’m beginning to question his accountability.

Meanwhile, the other old man in my life has been burying his head in the sand – particularly in relation to our finances. Having agreed to curb our spending at our last finance meeting – instigated by him, I should add – I was somewhat surprised by his expenditure on golf over the past few weeks – since curtailed by the closure of all courses yesterday.

“Essential?” I queried as I trawled through the bank statement and watched him splutter some excuse about therapy for his mental health in these highly anxious times. So it’s anyone’s guess how he will fare as we move forward.

He hasn’t been quite as successful at concealing the delight on his face each time one of our social engagements is cancelled. I swear he rubs his hands with glee each time the government limits the number of people that can gather in a group, and any day now I expect him to bunker down with the dog in full isolation mode.

When There's No Tonic On Supermarket Shelves, You Know The Civilised World Has Gone Mad

Here in Australia, we are not in full lockdown yet, but the system is already broken. A couple of days into any sort of meaningful distancing rules and not a drop of tonic water is to be found on supermarket shelves.

Photo by Vlad Tchompalov on Unsplash

I’m not certain where it all went wrong, but I blame those idiots who made the news public that quinine (one of the ingredients of tonic) might be a potential deterrent against the dreaded COVID-19. It is their lack of judgment when it comes to the self-centred behaviours of the rabid stockpilers that has put an end to my gin and tonic days.

I understand about the shortages of meat, milk and toilet roll… BUT TONIC WATER, FFS! Don’t people understand that gin and tonic is an “essential” self-medication in the treatment of anxiety?

Surely, as a community, we can demonstrate more empathy for those doing it tough? Interestingly, I do seem to be weathering this storm better than I expected to, although that may have something to do with the government’s decision to keep golf courses and driving ranges open – which means that the old man is still out of my hair for part of the day. Or, it may simply be because (APPARENTLY) some people with anxiety cope better than most with crises of this calibre.

It’s fair to say that this level of unprecedented disaster is exactly what we have been anticipating EVERY BLOODY DAY of our lives! And to be quite frank, for most of us self-isolation is the dream!

Personally, I am more inclined to believe that I am simply in denial, especially when not much has actually changed in my day-to-day life. As an educator, I continue to risk life and limb on the frontline in my job as “babysitter” to Australia’s (petri dish of) children, putting my own health directly at risk.

Of course, that means I’m secretly hopeful that (at the end of this nightmare) my sacrifice will ensure me an Order of Australia, a concert, or just a very big hug from Chris Hemsworth at the very least. What I don’t need, though, is your thanks, Mr Morrison – not when you’ve given me no choice in the matter. As a casual worker, I don’t get paid if I don’t work – unless we shut down.

On second thoughts, Scotty, maybe there is one thing you could do for me by way of your appreciation. Next time you’re at Kirribilli House, perhaps you could check out your tonic supplies…

9 Innovative Games To Help You Pass The Time During Self-Isolation

Isn’t it funny how swiftly the things you once dreamed about can turn to disappointment? Not that I’ve ever dreamed of spending more time (than I have to) with the old man, but surely I can’t be the only one who used to fantasise about having more time to write, more time to watch back-to-back shows on Netflix, or the time (even) to trim my pubes?

Photo by niklas_hamann on Unsplash

It is slowly dawning on me how boring self-isolation might be. There are only so many ways you can entertain yourself at home during overlong days when anxiety has sucked the creativity out of you and wakes you up much earlier than usual.

That’s why I’ve put my thinking cap on and come up with some innovative ideas to help keep that knife safely in the kitchen drawer:

  1. The Smart TV Microphone Game – This is a game the old man and I developed when we got our first smart tv – which it turns out, is nowhere near as smart as we hoped. It’s a bit like Chinese Whispers, only using the TV. Simply give the microphone a command and watch what rubbish it comes up with. It is highly entertaining.
  2. The Food Mystery Box – The unfair rationing due to stockpiling has seen the return of this wonderful Masterchef idea which can only get better the longer idiots keep ravaging our supermarket shelves. What culinary feasts can you come up with from the ingredients in your cupboard? To make it more challenging, the use of pedestrian ingredients like tuna, Baked Beans and those gross mixes of different types of beans are definitely not allowed.
  3. SNAP! – Not the traditional card game we all know and love but a real test of your relationship in these anxiety-inducing times. The old man and I are already professionals at this game. Basically, the winner is the first partner to reach the target of ten snaps at their other half. On several occasions, I’ve managed to reach this target before my first coffee of the day.
  4. The No Toilet Roll Game – This is a great game for those into problem-solving. The premise is simple – the winner is whoever finds the best replacement toilet paper from around the house. However, certain exclusions do apply – and these include the dog.
  5. Will He/Won’t He? This is a traditional betting game in which we guess how long it will take for Scott Morrison to prioritise people’s lives ahead of the economy and close all schools.
  6. Will I Starve On Newstart? – This is another problem-solving game where each player has to work out how someone who was on an (average) AUS$68K salary can live on $280 a week – for potentially six months.
  7. Kids Houdini – This is for the parents out there who have removed their kids from school. Each parent gets one child to gag and lock up – say, in the garage or a wardrobe – and they time how long it takes for them to get themselves free. There’s only one rule: no calling Child Services
  8. Essential Item Sweepstake – This is another guessing game where you bet on which will be the next essential item to disappear from our supermarket/pharmacy shelves. Those that predicted Ventolin and tonic water are currently in the lead.
  9. Wine O’Clock – You decide how early is “too early” in this crazy life or death scenario we’ve unwittingly become victims of. Life as we know it has changed, and so should some of those other ridiculous social constructs that have been forced upon us.

Educate your parents about COVID-19 – They may be stubborn old fools, but they’re stubborn old fools we want to keep in our lives for as long as we can

It’s been pretty appalling to hear the way some people dismiss the value of our elderly at the moment. This is what happens to equal rights in the face of a crisis. And while I understand the theory behind “survival of the fittest”, I’ll be the first to admit that it never crossed my mind that I’d experience the personal implications of it in my lifetime.

But worse is the sneaking suspicion that our parents and grandparents – many of whom survived world wars – aren’t taking this Coronavirus thing very seriously at all. Which means that while the majority of us are doing everything in our power to alleviate their risk, they’ve putting their own lives and ours in further jeopardy.

Only this morning as a threatening tribe of heaving shopping trollies (stacked to the ceiling with the sort of rations you would normally only associate with wartime) cornered me into the sweet section of the supermarket, an elderly lady tapped me on the back and pointed to my basket – containing tonic water and dog food because for this crisis I’ve got my priorities right.

‘It’s so surprising to see anyone still using a basket at the moment,’ she commented.

‘I suppose so,’ I replied vaguely, eager not to have to admit to my early morning raid of Aldi or to have an unnecessary conversation – that was definitely more than 1.5m apart – which might put her at risk from the light cold I’m still recovering from, (which is one of the downsides of working with children).

‘I’ve just come back from holiday and my children are worrying about me,’ she went on, as my brain imploded with the implications of this information. I put my hand over my mouth without thinking. ‘They told me not to leave the house. It’s quite ridiculous, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ I replied, lying.

I mean, I get that there’s an admirable stoicism that comes from surviving wars, but it’s no excuse for naivety. We need to listen to what the experts are telling us. If we are to learn anything from Italy’s experience of the spread of this virus, that sort of “fight them on the beaches” bravado is not going to help lovely old ladies like this one when it takes down millions and she finds the value of her life measured against the life of someone half her age in the ER, is it?

Educate your parents. If you think you’re confused by the advice coming from the government and the media, imagine how they feel. Offer to do their shopping for them, visit them more to help alleviate the loneliness that self-isolation may cause, value their contribution to all of our lives.

We’ve reached a time in our lives where many of us are losing our parents to natural causes – and none of us have any control over that. But we can reduce their risk to the exposure of this virus. And while they may be stubborn old fools, they’re stubborn old fools we want to keep in our lives for as long as we can.

Sorry For Ignoring You. I’ve Been Busy Stockpiling Toilet Rolls

This morning, I asked the old man the following question: If he had his time again, would he choose to relive his fifty-three years, or would he choose the sixteen-years of a dog? We have these deeply philosophical discussions, sometimes – in those rare moments he hasn’t got his nose stuck in the latest viral golf or dog video on social media.

Photo by Anna Franques on Unsplash

He chose the dog’s life, which I totally understand if you’re a pet lucky enough to have the life of The Princess – stress-free, with a focus on food and walks; where the only thing you really has to moan about is daily smotherings of love from your family. That’s not to say that I wasn’t a little peeved that he doesn’t want to replay the past thirty-five years with me – his soulmate. But I get it. It’s hard to focus on those brief moments of joy when there’s all that other stuff going on… And as I’ve been reminded over the past few weeks, the freedom from stress of a dog’s life is a very hard thing to achieve in the real world.

It won’t surprise you to know that the last post I started and aborted was an incendiary piece about my reaction to the murders of Hannah Clarke and her children. It was another exasperated cry about my dwindling belief in a system that fails women so badly, but I had to can it when a wave of exhaustion from saying stuff that seems to fall on deaf ears got the better of me.

What’s the point, I asked myself, when nothing changes?

And since then, the news has been dominated by the Coronovirus, the move of the Sussexes, the art of toilet roll stockpiling, and the impending financial crisis. Sadly, Hannah’s death has been put to the bottom of the crisis pile along with other less newsworthy examples of abuse – although, I imagine that even the most fervent deniers of the #metoo movement felt some relief about Harvey Weinstein’s incarceration and the possibility that it might put a stop to women moaning.

The problem is, lads, there are just so many examples of gender inequality that we’re unlikely to run out of ammunition anytime soon – a strong case in point being the now senior, white man race to the Whitehouse.

Those (and stockpiling toilet rolls) are a few of the reasons I’ve kept my head down for the past few weeks. That and a ferocious last edit of my manuscript before it goes under the expert scrutiny of the national literary treasure who is Anna Spargo-Ryan. The author of books The Paper House, The Gulf, and numerous other publications on mental health, Anna sold herself short by accepting my pittance of a donation to the #authorsforfireys appeal and agreed take a look at it for me.

And then there’s my son, who continues to keep us on our toes through his stormy navigation of young adulthood, and makes it harder to remember, sometimes, that these difficult moments in history and our lives make us stronger and give us purpose – something I don’t see a great deal of in my dog when she’s chasing her tail or eating poo.

What we have to bear in mind on those days when the clouds finally part, the sun breaks through and we are given small drops of the good stuff to help us carry on, is that things change. We have to keep believing that with time and education, we can undo the wrongs caused by toxic masculinity and inequality. I have to believe that Kurt’s passage through the complexities of life will get easier – which it did this week when he managed to win six pieces off the old man in a game of Chess, and that someday my little story will reach a wider audience and help people like me who are struggling for answers.