The Adjusted Normal, 55. Spring in My Head.

The weather has slightly cooled here along the coast. Inland, it's another story, as well as the rest of the peninsula. There are forest fires, including one in the Xurés Mountains on the border with Portugal, where a fire fighting plane went down, with one crew member dead. It's August, and things are pretty much normal in that sense.

But in the rest of the news, the first story is the virus, just like it's been since the end of January. Then, it's the ex-king and his odyssey from one friend's house to another. Now, he's supposed to be in Abu Dhabi. After that, some clips from Beirut and the enormous explosion that happened, thanks to a negligence that seems so common to Mediterranean countries, Spain included. That is followed by whatever is judged next in importance, depending on the channel and the owner's political viewpoint.

Personally, this doesn't seem like any old August, however. Some mornings I wake up and it still seems like May, or June, at the most. The year is more than halfway over, and it seems like it began yesterday, more so than other years. Normally, March comes around with its warming and growing days. Then, April, and I start to open up to the outside, with bettering weather and warmer days. Everything grows and I seem to grow with it. May comes, and everything is speeding up. I take care of plants, weed, add fertilizer, water, move those that haven't wintered well. Then, in the sunny months of June and July, I make sure they have enough water, though some days they feel neglected and start to wilt. As the spring and summer progress, so do I.

Not this year. Being shut up for two months, and having limited movements for another month, made me feel like I have just left behind a long and hard winter. During the lockdown, time seemed to stand still. When it ended, I found it hard to believe we were in May and not still in March. During those months I didn't open to the outdoors because I wasn't allowed outdoors. Oh, I could go into my garden, and sit at my doorstep, but that was the end of my interaction with the outside world except for trips to the supermarket or the pharmacy. Even though I could see the renewal of the world from my house, I felt excluded. 

So, I let most of my plants die because my head didn't register that they needed water or fertilizer, nor did I cull those in a sorry state. I let the garden of our other house run rampant, and the brambles are happy about it, though not the lilac bush. I didn't anticipate the flowering of my rose bushes, and therefore didn't enjoy them, because they weren't supposed to have flowered when they did, but two months later. 

I think that is the worst aspect of this pandemic. We may have lived them, and had our joys and our sorrows in them, but those two months were cut out of our lives and ceased to exist. Life stopped in mid-March to pick up where it left off in mid-May. Though it hasn't really picked up in the same spot, either. If at the beginning of March most of us had no problem going to a concert, or eating out at a crowded restaurant, or dancing in a packed disco, now we shun those places. Even sitting at a terrace is not the same. Or going clothes shopping. Or going to the hair dresser. Or doing business at an office. Walking down the street one is now concerned with avoiding other people, and making sure the mask is covering mouth and nose if they come too close.

My mind is still in adjustment mode, and it will be for some months, yet. This is perhaps one of the worst things this pandemic has done to me. Hopefully, there won't be anything worse. Knock on wood.

Life continues.