Confinement Notes 4: Beach Balls of Rage
Ziggy in her space capsule ready to visit the vet
Week 8
Ziggy had a socially distanced trip to the vet. Her left eye had gone all weepy and squinty and Dr. Google said not to ignore a weepy squinty eye. So I made an appointment and Gareth got her pink space capsule down from the loft.
The only time Ziggy makes a cliched cat noise is when travelling to/from the vet. It's a non-stop miaow miaow miaow miaow miaow miaow that sounds exactly like it's spelled. Not sure if she's saying I'm scared or This pink space capsule demeans us both.
It was surreal driving into town after an eight-week absence. I'd missed the transition from bare branches to full-on spring. The streets were quiet but the trees were loud with blossoms and green.
The lockdown vet process was beautifully efficient:
Park up and place cat carrier behind vehicle.
Phone the vet.
Vet comes out to collect feline and take inside.
Vet does their thing then calls back with diagnosis.
Bill paid over phone.
Feline deposited back to rear of vehicle, with medication taped to the carrier.
The vet's plastic apron looked mighty shredded when she returned, so I hope Ziggy behaved herself.
The whole thing was done in 15 minutes and £52, then we miaowed our way back home to Fluffy Towers. A few eyedrops that evening and Zig's peeper was de-squinted.
Week 9
Gareth went back to work on Thursday after five weeks on furlough. Time to get that essential whisky back in production.
I felt a little sad and unsettled as he left our bubble, though relieved and grateful he still has a job and that he can do it safely, when so many are not so lucky.
I said on Instagram that at first I was worried about being together all day. We've spent great gobs of time apart this past half-decade, with his long hours and my work travels. I half-joked that "separate lives" was the main reason we were still together.
So it's been a relief to find he's still the human I like to hang out with most. Not sure how he feels about it though!
I don't take for granted this unexpected pocket of togetherness, with the bleary-eyed morning coffees, the cat-and-eyedrops wrestling, the mechanic assisting in the garage; the crisps/tea/Schitt's Creek.
G in his happy place
Week 10
Is anyone else's mind throwing up a montage of past mistakes and/or cringe-worthy moments late at night? Just as you're trying to get to sleep?
Maybe with the present being so repetitive/scary and the future but a fog, the brain is forced to look backward for entertainment.
It's bloody annoying.
Recently in Diversions
I took up watercolour painting. "Taken up" = "slopping amorphous blobs onto a page". I'm not great at making something look like something that exists on this earth, so I tried some Morning Mood Mandalas like my friend Alli does. You draw a circle, look at the paints, see what colours sing to your mood, and just do whatever you feel like in that circle. It's strangely soothing and addictive! Gareth calls them my Beach Balls of Rage.
I started tidying the chaotic pit that is my office, starting with the bookshelves that are visible in my Zoom background and slowly working forward.
We've now done eight Friday night Zoom pub quizzes. I cannot believe Gareth did not know that the unicorn is Scotland's national animal. That is THE BEST factoid about Scotland!
