Is 7am too early to wake up during a lock down?
The obvious answer is yes.
Especially given my approach last Saturday when our ‘stay-at-home’ orders were issued. I drank three Negronis on ice and two bottles of red wine, planning to hibernate through the whole ordeal. It’s only two weeks – how hard could it be?
That blurry Saturday afternoon was what I imagine voluntary Euthanasia will be like. I stumbled into bed, all the rough edges of my life already softened, and closed my eyes.
Robinson woke me at 7am the next day. Not two weeks later. Didn’t she read my note? Did I leave a note? I can’t remember.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asked kindly.
The obvious answer is yes. ‘Is it July already?’
‘No. It’s Sunday.’ And with that she was gone off down the stairs, kitten leading the prancing way.
It’s nice and everything but it’s way too early. After coffee and crosswords and the ping and the pong of online Scrabble games side by side in the big bed I’m exhausted by 9am and the day hasn’t even started.
Sometimes a leftover nocturne on Classic FM sends me back to sleep but then it’s the fretful dozing of someone who feels like he should be up doing something. Vacuuming, according to Robinson.
Having woken too early and vacuumed all day I then stay up way too late eating corn chips and guacamole and chocolate. There’s endless overnight live sport on TV. Wimbledon. Le Tour. Yet another European football tournament. It’s sunny over there but it’s raining here.
Robinson has been asleep for hours by now, getting ready for 7am. We’re out of sync.
Having eaten everything I can find that’s bad for me by 1am I have to resort eating raw vegetables. Carrots. Cauliflower. Oh look, there’s another block of chocolate in the fridge door! I might have one more glass of red wine with that.
I think I might have some dope in my desk drawer…
We’re not allowed to go to the gym so our elite fitness levels are rapidly tapering off. I’ve put on more than a kilo already and we’re only on DAY FIVE. If I was better at maths I could extrapolate and calculate my likely neck size for when the shops reopen.
It doesn’t help that Facebook is full of sunny photographs of our Victorian friends who all seem to be on extended holidays on glorious, deserted NSW beaches – which we can’t visit. Unless we’re deer phobic nude sunbathing.
Our friends have all been on the road for weeks, long before our lock down, escaping with joy after theirs. All they have to do to keep enjoying life is avoid Greater (now lesser) Sydney. Good luck to them. They’ve earned it much more than we have.
I wonder if they get to sleep in?