All this

It's now more than 100 days since lockdown. We may be starting to come out of the other end, or we may simply be experiencing a lull before the next wave. It's been, and continues to be, a strange time. We know it's happening - of course we do, the impact is all around in lives suspended, routines disrupted, and anxieties rising.
And yet, in some ways it's a bit of a phoney war for us. We don't know anyone closely who has been affected. I'm thankful for that. My tank of coping is still running on low after mum passed. This part of the country has not been as hard hit as some, despite the proximity to London. Infection rates and mortality is relatively low. We seem to be on top of it, for now.
But life has changed. The restrictions on us, and warnings are likely to stay in place for a while. The internal hesitancy may last even longer. When will we feel comfortable shaking hands with people again? What about hugging, or kissing? I catch myself watching TV images of behaviour that a few months ago was unexceptional, and bridling at the riskiness of it. And I don't consider myself to be especially subdued by this pandemic. What must it be like for others? As lockdown eases, and support for the most sheltered ends, it will be tough for some people to trust society again.
It hasn't all be terrible though. Family time has been great, and although work has ebbed, the measures that the government has brought in have helped my personally - it would be churlish to say otherwise. Not everyone has been caught by the safety net, but who'd have thought a Tory government would go so far? Strange days indeed.
I've been thankful for the reduction in options in some ways. Naturally indecisive, closing off choices hasn't been terrible for me. I'm happy to be guided in a particular direction at the moment.
Everyone has experienced this their own way. In some ways I've felt slightly apart from it because my focus was elsewhere for so much of it. Losing mum has affected me in ways I didn't anticipate. I've had feelings of guilt that I wasn't there for her as much as I might have been; feelings of loss - probably more than I expected; moments of  anguish as I pondered my own mortality, and... just sadness.
I've been drinking more than I should be and telling myself that it's okay. It's a coping mechanism. And that I can stop when I like, although I wonder. Are there things I'm not addressing?
We're moving on but there's still a fog.