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Covid Pan-Selfishness
Okay, world…so this is not a bad dream.
It’s not an apocalyptic Hollywood blockbuster either. You’re allowed a bit of genocide as a planet, because we’ve been hurting you for a few millenia, but please let’s reach some kind of agreement here.
Though posts and images of people licking bottles in supermarkets, strolling in hoards on seaside promenades and on beaches might indicate otherwise…this shit is serious.
On the fifth day of self-isolation, indoors along with my three best friends, I have finally managed to drag myself to the keyboard to try to write something.
I’m not really sure what, and I’m not going to draft or plan, nor am I going to edit and structure, just correct typos and spelling. Why? Because in my current state of mind, it’s a miracle I’m at the keyboard writing anything at all. So I’m minimizing the excuses and search for “perfection” and tweaking that might stop me from hitting “publish.”
Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had a recurring dream (or nightmare, some might say, but I don’t class dreams as “good” or “bad”): it is always set in a post-apocalyptic world, and rarely, if ever, have I witnessed the actual “end” of the world as we know it. I have no idea why, but it’s just always been here from the age of about nine.
