I was right about the toilet paper. I had always predicted that it was going to be a problem. Those of you who know me personally and have had conversations about the apocalypse with me will know that I have often expressed the strong preference not to survive the event. I don’t want emerge from the rubble, after watching most of the world die around me, only squint into the sunlight of the new world and to find that there’s no toilet paper, toothpaste, deodorant or internet. Being a malodorous, lonely puddle of survivor guilt is not my idea of having a good quality of life. Not to mention the lack of chocolate. I’ve forgone stockpiling toilet paper in favour of doing so for chocolate. Not that they’re mutually exclusive. But I guess I just get distracted.
Speaking of chocolate, recent days at work have been good. Working in this busy environment with its many teams and shifts of people means many varieties of Easter chocolates. And home-made hot cross buns. I want to give a special mention to my colleague T, who made these chocolate ones with epidemiological curve icing designs. The curves show where we all hope to be, at the end of the outbreak. The Ministry of Health here have also been keen to express their appreciation for us by buying us even more chocolate. The Ministry chocolate eggs were probably one of the most popular varieties up for grabs. We’ve fielded many questions by worried children about whether the Easter bunny would be subjected to virus-related lockdown restrictions. (The answer we give them is no, because we have not seen a case of COVID-19 in bunnies yet.)
They’re all good eggs in our COVID-19 bunker. All the people I’ve met so far, anyhow. Aside from being champions of creative bun baking, they are a bunch of down-to-earth people who are willing to support each other and work hard. There are so few egos around the place (OK, we’re not a bunch of saints, there are one or two that stick out a bit more) that whenever an external VIP comes to visit, you can almost feel their presence before you see them. Now that schools are closed, many of my colleagues have had to juggle busy bunker schedules and childcare. They have my full admiration. I don’t know how they do it.
Speaking of eggs, the other association that comes to mind is the Flying Egg Cafe, nearby. They’ve remained open for takeaway coffee and food, fortunately for me and many of my workmates. They supply delights such as this pumpkin bread, which is more pumpkin and less bread, and for somebody like me, who loves her veggies, it is one of the best things ever.
I’m sure that somewhere in the world, somebody has experimented and made even better desserts with twice as much pumpkin content. And they’ve probably posted about it online, and now has thousands of people emulating. At least, that’s what I think the rest of the world is doing. It’s what my imagination pictures them to be doing, because I don’t know any better. I often feel unjustifiably indignant when scrolling through my email inbox and reading all the promotional emails. They’re mostly written with the assumption that I’m at home under quarantine, bored out of my brains. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t swap my life in the bunker for home quarantine. But I’m just grumpy about it because it makes me feel left out of the mainstream. I’m missing out on the in-jokes! One thing that I don’t get, though, is why Pinterest keeps telling me to check out all of the trending wedding boards. I’m surprised that anyone is planning a wedding in these current conditions. But then again, it’s nice to know that people are optimistic and keeping their hopes up that their big day will come soon. I’m part of the out-of-touch army of ghostly healthcare workers who emerge from the train station after dark every night. Some of the others wear scrubs to show for it, which makes me slightly jealous. The other night, during my short walk home from the station, I could see somebody walking down the street in the distance, holding a strange gadget in his hands that on first glance could almost be a firearm (on closer inspection, some kind of a power tool). One of the first thoughts in my COVID-19 brain was, “Hey, you can try to shoot me if you want, but you have to do it from a socially safe distance, OK? None of that point blank range stuff!”
I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Not so much falling asleep, because I am usually so exhausted. But staying asleep for the whole night. This has only occurred maybe twice in the last 2 months. I keep waking up after bunker-related dreams many times, every night (but never nightmares, mind you). But the most unexpected part of it is that I told my Dad, and he paused and then nodded knowingly (well I imagine that he did, since he doesn’t do video chats often), and then told me that this would last until I am 45 years old. “The astrologer told us this would happen,” he said, referencing all the way back to the time when I had my traditional Chinese 1-year-old astrology reading. I was flabbergasted. Not just with the fact that the astrologer knew, but also with the fact that it has been written in the stars somewhere that I’m destined to suffer this fate for so many more years still. I voiced my indignation with the latter to Dad. “It’s karma,” he said, simply. “In a past life you didn’t let somebody else sleep for so many years. Now you need to make up for it in this life.” I struggle to imagine what I might have done in this past life. Was I a particularly loud snorer? A nocturnal bagpipe player? A rooster with circadian rhythm issues? The village banshee? Public service announcement: sing lullabies to people. It might pay off in your next life.
I’m quite fortunate in that our bunker is in a fairly affluent part of Sydney, with nice parklands in the surrounding areas. The other day, I took a little detour on my way to work. I left the train at the previous station, Artarmon, and explored Artarmon Reserve, an area of parkland that looked quite pleasant from the train windows. It was full of families attempting socially distant, non-gathering types of outdoor exercise on bicycles and scooters. And it had some street art too. Seeing the street art reminded me that a mere 4 months ago, I was admiring murals in Senegal. The world really feels completely different now.
irrelephant conflounder 