I believe this is my fifth week in quarantine. I say that without any real certainty because at this point, time is somewhat meaningless. The days stretch on, new hours to fill, new self-made schedules to mimic any kind of routine or normalcy.
That’s all we really crave, now; normality.
There have been many a silver lining to this ‘new normal’. New hobbies or skills or ‘time to ourselves’, many examples of ‘bright sides’ that we’ve plucked from our lives and painted positively. Baking bread, afternoons in the garden, finally watching that show you’ve been meaning to get to for months.
It’s understandable, of course. If nothing else, looking on the bright side is all some of us can do. And even that comes from a place of privilege – there are many who cannot. Key workers, the elderly and vulnerable, those stuck in isolation with abusers, those in poverty… they do not have the fortune of only having to battle boredom, or the luxury of being ‘productive’, of ‘bettering themselves’ or ‘making the best of a bad situation’.
But even with these silver linings, there’s a lot to be said for the ‘old normal’. The little things, tiny triumphs, moments we are all at least a little guilty of taking for granted because we never expected them to be snatched from our grasp quite so suddenly.
There’s so many things that I miss.
Fresh salt-and-vinegar cod and chips straight out of the paper, coupled with generous dollops of ketchup and mayonnaise.
Waking up to Greg James (on the radio, no scandalous gossip of sordid affairs here, I’m afraid) and the sounds of a new playlist on my morning commute.
Walking through Oxford Street, weaving between Londoners and tourists, scarlet double-deckers and racks of souvenirs.
Sifting through charity shop rails on secondhand hunts for thrifted throwbacks.
The pub. God, I miss the pub. The people. The just one glass of wine inevitably shifting into just one more glass of wine and then finally into ill-advised tequila shots.
The conversations that get progressively weirder, the distinctly poor life choices – I even miss the ‘I’m going to die’ hangovers, a direct result of those tequila shots (and that’s saying something)
I miss my house. I miss the familiar red and pink and zebra print of my lounge, I miss the tiles in my bathroom. I miss not desperately worrying about having to potentially give her up in the midst of this chaos.
Singing my heart out in my bedroom.
THE MET GALA.
Those moments of side-aching, tears-streaming, loudly and carelessly cackling with breathless laughter with friends over something that nobody else in their right mind would find amusing.
The quirky plushes and warm welcomes of my friend’s flat. I miss her bright green sofa and equally bright red hair.
I miss the family that can’t be with us. I miss their stupid jokes and their deliberately annoying jibes that only family can get away with (and live to tell the tale.)
The buzz and the atmosphere of a dark comedy club before the acts come out, the drunken banter and the ‘there’s always one’ idiot who senselessly heckles or tries their hardest to be a comedian themselves and immediately crashing, burning, blushing and wishing they’d kept quiet.
Girl’s Night. Scattered piles of clothing and heels and bags and ‘can I borrow this? does anyone have any lash glue? can someone please help me fix my hair? I LOVE THIS SONG!‘
The blurred photographs, the blurred memories, the dead-serious-declarations of “I love you. No, you don’t UNDERSTAND. I LOVE you, you’re my best friend and I LOVE you!”
The gleeful squealing that can only come from the DJ playing That Song and the hurried grab of a hand and purposeful stride to the centre of the dancefloor.
The McDonald’s at the end of the night, the thorough debrief in the morning. Girl’s Night is honestly, truly sacred.
Making plans, scribbling on the calendar on my kitchen wall and counting the days until the next memory.
Capturing moments with a disposable camera.
I miss walking into a hotel room for the first time and immediately throwing myself onto the bed.
I miss hotel breakfasts.
I miss freshly painted acrylic nails.
I miss my friends and every little thing about them.
The tattoos and kindness and love of one, the blooming baby bump and Disney obsession of another.
Discussing crime podcasts with one, exchanging biting sarcasm with another.
The sass and hair-swishes and Americanisms of one, the cartoonesque daily uniform of another.
The constant pep-talks from one, the constant laughter from another.
I miss it all. I miss them all.
I don’t know what the ‘new normal’ will bring us. I don’t know how much of the ‘old normal’ we’ll be able to keep or if post-pandemic life will serve us a completely different way of living.
What I do know, though, is that the old ordinary was something actually very special, and I will strive never to take it for granted again.
I guess the saying is true – enjoy the little things, because one day you’ll look back and realise they were the Big Things.
