At the start of this year, I was looking forward to a final assault on the latest version of my grand plan (this would make more sense if you could read some of my formerly published posts). Basically, I was entering the final semester of my latest programme at uni. Things were looking very good. I'd even acquired two jobs over summer to pay to do a Certificate of Proficiency so that I'd have a reason to go into uni on more days. Why? Because I don't do any work at home. Ever. Also, I wanted to do that course.
I like to believe that in a world absent coronavirus I'd have submitted my thesis. I don't know if that's true. Even before we entered lockdown, I was behind where I wanted to be. I'm extremely lazy. I know that about myself. I might very well have failed to do anything (okay, fine, I chose a topic but we were expected to do that before we even had a supervisor so it shouldn't really count) regardless. I just don't know.
What I do know is this... I basically hid away from the world for a few months. The literal part of staying inside and not seeing people? That's not a big deal for me. We've been out and/or in pretty meaningless stages of lockdown for months now. I've still barely been anywhere or done anything (except go to the doctor... mostly for a sore throat/cough I've had since March... yes, of course, I've had a test... actually several... all negative, but I feel like I "get" something of long haul Covid). It's basically the same as a normal "summer holiday". But I don't hide from the world. I read emails. I go on Facebook and see what's happening with my "friends" (am I still a friend if I don't call, message, post updates or even bother to see what anyone is doing? I don't know). I read text messages properly. I don't read Harry Potter fanfictions obsessively. These sorts of things. That's hiding.
Today I went to Facebook.
Sure, it's not the first time I've done this since March. But it's one of only a few times. I didn't do anything but browse. Maybe next time. It's what I did read, though.
Some years ago, while at school, a dude I knew slightly had a pretty major workplace accident. It was in the news, actually. I remember that it was pretty surreal.
Today I learnt that he died several months ago. And that he had two, maybe three, children, too. Certainly, two... and with another former "classmate" (I don't think we ever literally had a class together but we were at the same college for at least a few years).
This is a very strange moment for me. It's very sad. I don't know how old his children are, but they're certainly no older than I was when my father died. I hope that they'll be able to refer to him by some other term than "my father". It's hard. Some days I feel like the only memory I have of my father is when I learnt that he was dead and all I remember doing is crying.
As I said, I needed to be selfish. And this seemed to be the best place to do that.