It’s 2 degrees outside and the reality of a Lockdown winter is beginning to bite. Generally I’m in a pretty good space emotionally: magnitudes better than I was the first time we had to do this, anyway. I’m healthy, and my flat is cute and centrally heated: I like spending time here, but I’ve also learnt how to balance safety with the need not to isolate for too long before heading out into the world, masked and keeping my distance as necessary. I have a job, a tiny bit of money in the bank, good friends, shoes without holes in and a couple of friends who I hug on a weekly basis. Around 3 or 4 times a week I will have an hour long telephone conversation with a man in the United States who makes me laugh, calls me the most awful names and makes me cum. I might be being cockblocked by Covid in the literal, no- fucks- til- 2021 sense but I am not starved of physical contact, intimacy or connection, and as a single person living alone in a Pandemic I count myself enormously lucky to be able to say all of that.
But that still doesn’t stop the winter from being a slightly scary prospect. I do have the same problem that many of us lucky enough to be working from a compact (but bijou) home are encountering: my living room is my bedroom is my office, so it can sometimes feel difficult to leave work behind. One thing I’ve decided to do is to make my bed as much of a nest as possible. I’ve bought new bedding in pastel colours- lots of pink, but some peach and lilac too- and a range of cushions and pillows. It is the snuggliest spot and I’m going to make it snugglier. I am going to put up art and fairy lights. I’m going to make this corner of my room a refuge- a gorgeous, comfy, girly little nest.
Looking forward into the winter, when the frost is biting and I don’t have to get up I am planning long, luxurious days of napping, catching up on my Netflix and YouTube instructional videos, journaling, writing, watching porn and wanking. Especially the last of these: I came into this year with my libido dulled by SSRIs and, despite all of the bullshit that we’ve had to wade through in the intervening months, it looks like I’ll be leaving it restored to my best sexual self: inhabiting Joy is a priority again, and I’m incredibly grateful to be able to say that. And because of that I feel like I can say that I’m in a better place this November than I have been for years. And however weird that is, and however untrue it might be for others, it would be remiss of me not to luxuriate in that for a little while, here in my cosy little pastel nest.