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A Year of the Covid-19 Pandemic, a Year of Collective Grief

January has bled into February almost as if the two months are one and the same, one unending block of time. I momentarily stop to wonder if March will feel similar.

I’m determined to write some of what I’ve been thinking, experiencing and reflecting on but I’m close to slipping away again, dissociating into the stillness.

January felt like a fitful dream, where the desire to sleep never ended but an emotional surge prevented restful slumber. February has felt like forced hibernation, and I’ve railed against it, expressing frustration and outrage towards myself for not snapping out of it and doing something. “I want to do things, I want to move!” says my brain, but my body refuses.

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