Love in the time of corona pt. x

a little story, a little update.

Hello Lovers,

I’m writing from my emotional support ex-boyfriend’s parent’s beach house. This morning, we took the dogs to the beach and swam, got award winning pies from the local bakery, and now I’m finally working on the writing I’ve been putting off because .. well because I just had some bad writers block / undiagnosed depression.

In September, I wrote to you about mercury in retrograde, full moons, and Libra season; then, I went through a break up (amicable), moved house (love the new place), got stitches in my finger after cutting it (kinda gross) and then Melbourne’s restrictions eased (scary but good). A box of my family/ childhood photos arrived from Germany, pictures I haven’t seen in 10 years, and I’ve started processing all the memories. More on this in a different newsletter.

This newsletter started with me sending out “Love in the Time of Corona” micro stories, and after 6 lockdowns, we’re never going back into lockdown again. So, here’s the final part - but not the last newsletter, don’t fret.

Love in the time of corona pt. X

The park was littered with groups of picnics, parking impossible to find, dogs roaming free range, bathroom lines reminiscent of music festivals. I spot you, holding two coffees, in keep cups, because you care about the environment and always have a spare. I hide my plastic mount franklin water bottle in my New Yorker tote bag and try to think of a smart way to say hello. Nothing about us has really changed, in the last few months, yet everything is different. Breathing in air maskless, bare midriffs and faces out in the grass, I feel freer, and shyer than pre-pandemic, or in-between-lockdown me. I know nothing about socialising anymore.

Hey stranger, you say, handing me the oat latte I asked you to get me.
Thank you stranger, I reply, let’s find a place to sit down?
How’ve you been, what’s new?
I’ve been in my feelings. You know how everyone’s catching up, having dinners, seeing friends? You point at the people around us, inner city hipster types, whose only concern is finding the cheapest seltzer with the highest alcohol content, and in the most aesthetically pleasing packaging. They’re spread out in large gatherings of vintage clad groups that appear tight knit. Some dudes are playing hacky sack, a girl is cutting a cheesecake decorated with edible flowers next to us. Steal my Sunshine is playing on a bluetooth speaker in the near distance.
Anyways, you continue, I’m feeling left out. Like, I’ll see three people I consider good friends, going out for dinner without me. Or having a picnic around the corner from mine. Everything’s on Instagram. Where’s my invite, you know?
Yeah, it stings finding out you thought you were closer with someone, than you actually are. Like unrequited friendship.
There’s a pause, because the two of us are all too familiar with unrequited feelings, in friendships and relationships. Disappointment shared, is disappointment halved. Although we’ve not seen each other in months, we’ve been through 6 stages of lockdown, 5 stages of grief and read the Four Agreements together. In a larger group of friends, we’ve always gravitated towards each other, held space for one another.
That’s what I love about you, I never feel left out with you, I say.

Are you seeing anyone?
In this economy? I laugh. No, it’s just not feasible right now. I don’t have the time, energy, or money. Getting to know new people is awful. The whole dance around finding out their likes and dislikes, disclosing everything that’s wrong with you - and worse, finding out what’s annoying about them. Going for coffees and dinners, with the way places are booked out right now? No thank you.
We laugh.
That’s why it sucks when you feel like you’re losing friends, you say. Cause the process is so similar. Am I too old to meet new friends?
Yeah, you old hag, I say. This is it. No new friends for you.

Finally you say,
I’m going to try and get tested for ADHD.
And I nod, because a lot of people in our circle have been diagnosed lately.
You know Max sells Ritalin, if you want to try it, I say, trying to be helpful. Just in case, I add - I don’t mean to offend you.

You couldn’t offend me, you say, elbowing me in the side. You’re stuck with me for life, through 6 lockdowns and beyond. No new friends.
Wanna play a game? Let’s guess what the people in that group next to us do for work.
God, I missed talking to you about nothing.
Talking to you about nothing is my everything, I say.