Day 28: Redefining Stockholm Syndrome
We are all tigers in cages
Another quiet quarantine Sunday. Being responsible citizens, we stayed in, cleaned the house and played loud music during non-antisocial hours. We cooked, worked on some of our own music, and I finally found time to read my book, which I thought was going to be an inspirational take on what it means to be a woman in the modern world, but instead turned out to be the writer’s account of growing up in South Africa during the apartheid regime. Like living under lockdown, it wasn’t something I agreed to, but I had committed to it, so I decided to see it through to the end.
Today I used my abundance of time to also have calls with family and friends, whom I seem to be talking to a lot more now that the world is ending (someone needs to satisfy the needs of all the extroverts out there). The sun was gloriously shining, so I stood out on my balcony, at which exact point my mother whom I was talking to on the phone told me, “I hope you’re not standing on that balcony of yours.” I was upset to be once again reminded of my own mortality and the very tangible dangers of being alive, but also comforted to see that someone else had acknowledged how the structure of my balcony seemed unreliable and this was not just some secret anxiety quietly making itself known after weeks of entrapment. At least, during the past few weeks I have been slowly confirming that sunbathing is an activity that can safely be done from the comfort of one’s own home. I have been to the future, and I can assure you it is not as bad as you think.
Some neighbours from the block of flats behind ours sounded like they were hosting a small party (I am hoping with a very small number of guests), probably enjoying the fact that their lasagne came out great, which is always a cause for celebration. However, they were playing some unidentifiable oriental music that sounded exactly like what Greek or Lebanese people would listen to at 4am in a live music venue while smashing plates or chairs, which made me strangely nostalgic, even though this is exactly the type of activity I would normally run away from. Maybe this is some new form of Stockholm Syndrome, although the term will need to be redefined considering how Sweden is handling the pandemic at the moment. Unless they all know something we don’t.
The people who believe that this is some Big Brother conspiracy theory are the same type of people who believe the Earth is flat, that you can’t catch coronavirus inside a church, and that by keeping tigers inside a cage you are actually saving their lives. Of course, the irony of the last point given our current situation does not escape me; maybe we all need a Carole Baskin in our lives, just one with a better dress sense and without any prominent psychopathic tendencies.
Speaking of delusional people, according to the ever-reliable The Sun, Bojo sounded and looked dreadful during his most recent conference calls, and breaking news tells me he has actually just been admitted to hospital for ‘additional tests’. Maybe while squashing that sombrero he got mistaken for a piñata.
Brunch: Poached eggs, sauteed mushrooms and spinach on toast, topped with some prosciutto crudo
Song of the day: Arcade Fire - Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)