New morning routine is to count the Spanish dead, new cases and analyze the data. Are we going in the right direction, where were we a week ago, a month ago? How many have died in my area, how many have recovered? I scour the local news to find out if any more people in nursing homes have died. I read the local death notices and offer my condolences on Facebook where I can. I cry.
I go up to my office in the loft. I check if anyone has paid me and how much longer I can pay my mortgage without new work coming in. I talk to the accountant, the bank, my partner and remember what it is like to worry about money. I start work and check the UK news at least every half hour. How many people have died, how the situation with protective equipment is, government announcements. I offer my condolences to those who announce deaths of loved ones and people in their care. I cry.
I finish work, sometimes at 7 or 8pm but last night it was 3 am.
I breathe and marvel at how mentally well I feel, being made to stay at home, not travelling, being with my family and dogs. The constant noise and onslaught of work and life has gone and I’m starting to feel like me, whoever that is.