Since March, when I was visiting my soul mate, Su, in the hospice, I have stayed alone at home, devoid of human contact except by computer. Su died at the end of March. I am more isolated than I have ever been, grieving by myself.
I’ve had no trouble filling my time. I read as much as I can—that’s a necessity for a writer. I’ve done depth housecleaning and prepared my deck for cleaning. I’ve been working on my presentation of a video of Verdi’s opera, Aida, by watching the video and playing themes on the piano.
And I’ve cooked. I don’t think of myself as a chef, but because I was worried that I might not be able to buy the foods I normally depend on, especially eggs, I’ve cooked pots of soup and beans to go with rice. I was surprised at how delicious those dishes are and have thoroughly enjoyed them.
I’ve tried to exploit this golden opportunity of time on my hands to write, but I can’t get myself going. The novel I’ve been working on is based on my years with Su. The grief over her loss is too much. I won’t give up. I’ll keep trying until I get the flow going.
Luckily, as I’ve noted here before, I’m a loner by nature, so spending time by myself feels right. Up to a point. We humans are social animals; we need the company of others. As the weeks pass in complete isolation, I yearn for time with my friends.
And I long for my public readings and presentations, all cancelled due to the pandemic. So I’ve ordered a webcam. That will allow me to do virtual presentations on Zoom and WebEx. Unfortunately, the shipping of the webcam has been delayed by the pandemic. It was supposed to have arrived yesterday. I don’t know when it will show up.
So I’m faring better than most. We loners know how to take care of ourselves. But I’ll be glad when my isolation ends.