The lockdown blog: day 31

 This evening marks my last as a solo agent/lady of the manor/ isolation queen; tomorrow the age of 'Rathgor Roomies' shall commence. Above me still hangs a handmade and helpful A4 poster, 'Phoebe's lockdown guide to solo living'. Rule #1"The lockdown blog--a study in dramatic writing. Make a 'fridge trip' exciting". Whether or not this blog was a study in 'dramatic writing' I cannot comment. Certainly, I do not recall resorting to writing about fridge trips. This, I feel must be rectified: 

Shaking like a small needy jack Russell she made her way over to the chrome grey box and opened its curved door. The glaring white light bathed her reddened eyes as they roved desperately over its assorted contents. Her nose twitched. It was not detecting the much needed scent despite being well trained in this mission. There was a smell alright, but flared nostrils failed to pick out the rose amongst a multitude of thorns. Jalapenos, dips, cheese, milk, curry paste, oats (why?), Cider (yuck) but not....just as she began to slowly straighten in silent despair, her gaze fixed beadily upon a familiar, ravaged white cardboard packet. Her pupils dilated. Her breath caught. She reached and grabbed, allowing the familiarity and comfort of its sprawled code, 'Lindt Dark Sea Salt' to whisper sweet promises of joy. Waking her from a trance, an assertive kettle rudely clicked. Tea! Sheepishly she scrunched up the unloved silver envelope and smacked her darkened lips one last time. It was to be drunk alone. 

And there you have it. A study in the most dramatic writing I could muster. Check. Could you tell it was on an empty stomach? Give the people what they want I say. 

In order to mark the occasion of solo-mas eve I will burn this no-longer-needed paper guide on a pyre and dance around wailing "All by myyyyself" in my best Bridget Jones impression. Or maybe just put it in the bin once I hit 'publish' on this blog. Either way, it is past its sell by date and one shouldn't hold onto perished goods. 

It is on this bitter sweet note ( for I truly did just finish the last of the dark chocolate) that I must bid a farewell. This lockdown blog has seen me through and you, dear readers, have carried me through, my month of isolation. In the spirit of all clichéd break-ups, "it's not you, it's me"....For I fear that any more studies in dramatic writing may lead to some undesirable fashion faux-pas (blogger baux-pas) and I would like to end on a high (possibly sugar induced).

xoxo gone but not forgotten


 Tee hee...I'm back. I'm sooooo changeable (to be read in your best Andrew Scott as Moriarty voice).

 As remarked in yesterdays entry, turning 'is' to 'was' has never been my style, 'will' is my frill. In other words, if desirable, 'The lockdown blog' will continue, though perhaps less religiously and more sporadically. Give us this day our ..weekly blog? As long as the virus reigns so too will these posts-- in perfect disjointed harmony. The booster before the needle--providing immunity to loneliness and inanity (or has it been banality?) to insanity.

 'Committed' to 'broken up' to 'friends with benefits' in one fell post. #sorrynotsorry

Comments

  1. Drniallmoore@aol.comFebruary 2, 2021 at 1:43 PM

    Pheebs this has been a daily delight, a journo joy, a nocturnal nugget... thank you for enriching and illuminating the lockdown blues. So glad you’ll be continuing ‘al freako’ !

    ReplyDelete
  2. stigtreehuggerFebruary 3, 2021 at 12:05 PM

    Crikey you had me VERY worried until I got to your epilogue. PHEW 😅

    ReplyDelete
  3. hedgerowartFebruary 4, 2021 at 11:46 AM

    Yeah keep it going gurl....this is great stuff!! Look forward to your future creative outbreaks for you pen a great line! Dont stop...

    ReplyDelete

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