Our downstairs space is still bare concrete, but we’ve brought inside the couch and chairs. It’ll rain tomorrow, and we wanted to set the telly back up down there. Meanwhile, with the xBox still upstairs with the kids, they barely mix with us. I’m hoping the floorboards are in by the middle of the coming week, so we can establish some better balance to the endless number of days stuck inside.
I walked with my friend Anna, today, at the prescribed distance apart. A couple of hours around the neighbourhood, finishing up at the new Coles supermarket. These are the highlights, now. Risky trips to the supermarket. Matt and I were, let’s face it—excited—by local famous pizza restaurant 400 Gradi’s pop-up mercato. All your favourite Italian supplies at large scale: bags of flour, pasta, eggs, tinned tomatoes, enormous Nutellas, deli meats. We’ll be back there, no doubt.
Every day I do some marketing task in hopes of reviving at least a little remote consulting work. Matt continues to make calls.
We are comfortable and privileged. Every day I think about the people stood down from work; the women and children subjected to increased domestic violence; the inadequately supported elderly; the hospital workers who are being exposed every day. Our inadequate systems that our governments stripped bare in the name of a fucking budget surplus. I pay taxes for services. I don’t pay taxes for the government to sit on my money and be smug about it. Lift our whole society up with my money, you heartless fucks!