Lockdown catches us all in different ways. Some of you (quite mad!) are running marathons around your barbecue, while others are knitting up a storm. And it seems that everyone is baking banana bread, leading to a global dearth of yeast and flour, but strangely, not bananas.
There’s also a whole vibe of Lockdown Achievement Olympics self-promotion going on with another group on social media. Moms outdoing each other at homeschooling, wanna-be DJs live streaming bad mixes of bad covers to an audience of one on Instagram Live, and a million bloggers blogging listicles of helpful tips to make it through the day.
And here’s the thing – all the ‘helpful’ messages these lockdown heroes send out hourly are so dictatorial, so controlling. You must do this thing every day to save your mind. Do that thing to save on costs. Prepare like this to bulk cook and make sure the food goes further. Oh, and for South Africans, here are 47 reasons why alcohol and cigarettes are critically essential services and you must agree with me, no I am not dependent on them thank you very much but good God, how can the government stop the sale of them and are you exercising every thirty minutes, Janet?
There are no Brownie points, Scout badges or Certificates of Attendance for how you manage lockdown. This is not a competition. I haven’t felt this lectured to since woodwork class back in high school.
Look, love. You do you, okay? You want to run around your garden like a lunatic? Go for it. Make all the banana bread you like. Homeschool the hell out of your kids. But please, for the love of God, can you stop parading it on social media as a badge of honour, and inferring shame on anyone that’s not rocking lockdown like you are, you champion, you!
Me? I’m carbo-loafing. You know. Like carbo-loading, except you don’t go for the big run or sportsy sports thing afterwards. You just eat all the delicious carb-heavy foods.
Yup. I think it’s great to do what you’re good at, and one thing I’m really good at, is overeating and then, incapable of movement, lying semi-comatose on the couch as a flood of YouTube playlists feeds my subconscious a smorgasbord of murder-for-hire plots and a bevy of Russian dash-cam crash compilations.
And I’m better at it than you are, champ!