Time is the gift that keeps on giving.
Mind you, so is COVID-19.
The situation has become somewhat anxiety-provoking again. Just the sheer numbers and the medical staff reckoning they're close to overwhelm. Turns out we have 80,000 vacancies in the NHS. Can't fill the posts. I blame Brexit.
My Dad gets angry when people don't make space on the pavements. That's not something I've really experienced. I've found people to be exceptionally nice. I'm wondering if where he lives has more Libertarians. More middle class people, for sure.
I'm a little scatter-gun today. It feels like there is so much to do - and there is when it comes to Italian football previews and vacuuming. But really. My essay I am just repeatedly tweaking while I imagine that it's a work of genius it's not.
God. I shouldn't be so depressing. I'm not exactly depressed. It's more that there's been quite a lot of work and then the work is set to stop for a bit - a circuit break... and what will happen with the EUROs? And then does that mean I can do the two modules in June and don't need to mess around with Research Ethics?
I don't know. Uncertainty. We like limits. We like to put things in boxes, make schedules, draw up lists, tick them off.
The cats don't care. They like to be close. They like to be warm. They like to eat. They like to have a mad half hour. They like to be noticed. They like to be ignored. It would be better to be a cat.
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