Photo by Alexandre Debiève on Unsplash
There are a few things I miss from my pre-quarantine life besides the obvious financial security, lack of existential horror over a pandemic, and the fact that it wasn't illegal to go outside. I find myself romanticising the mundane; the everyday routine to uni, work and even the gym, which are now maximum a room away from me at all times. But it's not just the traveling and ability to see friends when the 8 pm loneliness kicks in that I miss the most. I've even started to miss the things I used to get frustrated over and only get through with the help of a long, internal moan.
I'm wondering if I'm the only one who misses the liberty of attending a stuffy tube ride, let alone the long escalators in central London that lead to it, the Monday morning sprint to the train which was the only thing keeping my cardio up, and of course, the overpriced takeaway coffee in our fancy KeepCups. To a degree, the longing for the annoying and the mundane is probably just the result of some reverse psychology trick: if you can't do it, you suddenly really want to. But the other part of me also believes that longing after the following points also reveals another side of how I've really felt about them all along.
Being able to cancel plans
Maybe I'm just unreliable or there's actually something about cancelling plans that's equally as satisfying as mentally preparing yourself to do the rest of the dishes behind you, and realising they're already done. I'm not saying that all things I plan to attend or take part in are as exhausting as tedious housework, but it definitely feels relieving to know I don't have to do it - especially knowing I don't have to do it straight away. Of course it's frustrating when you have to postpone plans with friends because something with work came up (which is an entirely different problem on its own), but the flexibility of just meeting up another time was a freedom I definitely took for granted.
Even better: being cancelled on
In case you haven't noticed, I've got absolutely no problem with changing or cancelling plans, and finding something else to do instead. But being the one to cancel always feels a bit shitty and like I'm just an unreliable friend. However, if I am the one being cancelled on, absolutely no grudges will be held and I'll just suddenly feel like I've been granted more free time than I had before (which is obviously ridiculous and false because, well, the only difference is that I'm going to spend it alone). The point is that I get to show all the understanding and compassion that I hope to receive myself when I have to cancel, while feeling that I inevitably come out as the better friend. Obviously false too, but it's a sweet little drug for the ego.
The superiority complex I get from getting angry at people's poor gym etiquette
I talked about this very early on in my post about some of my positives from self-isolation, and let me tell you: things haven't changed. Before every workout, I bring out my gym equipment which is currently limited to an improvised yoga mat (two blankets) and some resistance bands, and torture my muscles and lungs in peace. My gym has luckily suspended our monthly membership payment, but every time I receive an email from them, I can't help but wonder what all the 'regulars' are up to now. Did they set up a gym in the middle of the kitchen to be in everyone's way? Is every wall covered by mirrors so they don't forget to flex their muscles as they walk by? Is every chair 'reserved' by at least on of their sweaty towels? I wonder if the "do you even lift bro?" has finally been replaced by their housemates asking "do you even put your equipment away arsehole?", and if they're taking those lessons with them when gyms open again. I kind of hope not.
The adrenaline rush I get from thinking I've overslept but then I realise it's Sunday
Every occasional Sunday morning, my body would decide to wake me up in horror of the idea that I've overslept. I'm never sure what day it is exactly, but my alarm must've not gone off and now my heart is pumping enough blood for an Ironman Triathlon. After trying to speed through the process of getting dressed, spraying probably the wrong spots of my body with deodorant and practically eating a drop of tooth paste, there's still more relief than frustration vibrating through my body when it would finally hit me. The thing is, yes, I could just go back to bed for a little while, but my body also feels like I've just drowned in a pool full of energy drinks, so I might as well get the most out of my free day until I do the points above all over again next week. Oh how lucky I was.