Reality of Remembrance

What are your thoughts about reality?

I only ask because I’ve been thinking about it a lot this week. If you’re a scientist then you probably think that reality is made up of atoms, particles, space, time and gravity and you can probably show me an equation to show me how this is so. If you’re more inclined towards the humanities then you probably think that reality is a collection of the thoughts, actions and beliefs of the people who once lived here. Linguists might assume that reality lies within a perfectly constructed sentence that encapsulates feelings about life, truth and love. Or perhaps for you, reality is the slight evening movements of a spider plant, a cello note or a morning drop of dew.

On Monday 600 shops and businesses re-opened in Dublin and we all returned to a reality. In addition to the food and hardware shops, you can now purchase clothes, shoes, Carroll’s Irish souvenirs and jewellery. We live in a world where you can queue to buy earrings from Pandora’s; so we might just call it reality with a twist.

I was quite surprised to see all the people on Monday. I went for my walk as normal, but for the first time in 13 weeks I felt underdressed and a little self-conscious in my cut-off jeans, coffee stained T.shirt, oddly shaped cardigan, ski socks and sandals. My matted mane of hair and I were ill prepared for all the visitors from beyond the 5km and it was odd seeing so many new people walking up and down Henry Street, window shopping and talking.

I’m sure you’re not at all surprised to hear I’m finding the new stage a little shocking and a little bit odd. I’m sure you’re thinking “but Ruth, you’ve handled all the other stages of this thing with such dignity and effortless grace!” I feel like I’m experiencing a complicated version of Stockholm Syndrome where I am both my own kidnapper and my own hostage. In addition, I am also my own hostage negotiator.

“Let her go, let her go I tell you!”

“I will never let her go!”

“Let me stay, let me stay here! I need to watch the end of Chariots of Fire and lick the jam from these freshly baked Jammy Donuts. Let me stay!”

“God damn it let her go, she’s delirious, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. For the love of God let her go before it’s too late!”

“I will never let her go, she is not going back to reality, she’s not ready!”

I’m happy to see the people returning to the city, as this means we have the virus under control and there are less people sick and dying. That is undoubtedly a good thing. But I was sad to smell all the traffic again and smell the concrete pours from the heavy construction. It had been nice to have clear air for a while and I naively thought we might keep that improvement. Now it smells like Dublin again and it sounds like Dublin again and it looks like Dublin again.

Yet, people like me will continue to work from home, and in our free time too we will be at home.

I work four days a week, which only takes up 17% of Time.

Isn’t that remarkable and did you also used to think it took up so much more of Time? I’ve done the sum several times and I can show you if you want. Look!

28 hours per week of a possible 168 of weekly hours x 100 = 16.6666 %

I rounded up the number to be as fair and transparent as possible but it’s a fact that a 4 days-per-week-job only takes up 17% of Time, and even if you are working five days a week it’s still only 21% of your weekly allowance. I used to think it was such a bigger part of my essence but working from home has shown me it’s really just such a small part of my day.

Numbers don’t lie because they’re not sentient beings.

It’s just 17% of Time.

So that leaves me with 83% of free time to work on my other Activity Projects, which include but are not restricted to scrolling through social media sites and having imaginary arguments with some of the people who are there too. I’m seriously considering cutting back on the social media circus before I do permanent damage to my right thumb, which is already damaged enough after an accident on a dry ski slope in Merthyr Tydfil sometime in the late 80’s.

Social media is such an obvious demon of time evaporation it’s almost not worth the effort to criticise it. Obviously, I love it in my domains, because I am the Queen of all I curate in my special kingdoms. I don’t chop off the heads of my enemies, but I can mute and block them, and I win all of the imaginary fights that I engage with. When I’m tired of it, I turn off its sun and when I’m playful again I turn it back on. What’s not to love in that paradise? But even this world is starting to lose its magic after all these days and weeks and it’s a very poor substitute for real life.

It lacks a sense of veracity.

I want new memories of reality and even some boring ones. Memes are not memories, and I want something to happen in real time.

One of my first memories is being on a slide in the playground of the nursery school and I can still feel the black rubber steps leading to the top. I remember the touch of the plastic slide and the squeeky sound it made on your legs if you were wearing a skirt. I can remember that day very clearly. Some other children were playing near the climbing frame and there’s laughter coming from the teachers, standing close to the door. It was a grey day and a cold day, but that sky-blue slide is embedded in my brain. It’s not Twitter Blue, or Skype Blue or Jitsi Blue, but real sky blue and the memory remains.

I want to go deep sea diving without any equipment or gear. I want to plan a weekend mini-break with my girlfriends and spend just an hour with my dad in his back garden. I want to kiss my friend’s kids and the children in my family and cuddle them and tickle their bellies. I want to meet several people inside somewhere and I want the real reality back now, not this.

Can I have the real reality back now, not this!