Pressure of productivity

WEEK 1 

Lockdown hit. As a nation we stood on our driveway, waved goodbye to the world, walked inside, shut the door, counted the number of canned foods and toilet paper, thought should I get more toilet paper, googled “does Rona give us the shits”. We looked around at our bubble peeps, some of those might have been the innocent eyes of your children and the wide eyed snotty nosed toddlers. Those poor parents probably thought FUCK. Four weeks with the kids. Great. Just great.

I was thinking this is the time; this is the time to get my P into gear. I whipped out my comfy pants and my sweatbands. Let’s get physical! productive!

While in lockdown I had felt this pressure to be productive. I had all this time on my hands, so there’s no time for excuses. No time like the present to be productive. Let’s work on my social media presence for my business. Let’s bake some banana bread, because why not? Let’s start my blog. Let’s keep in regular contact with my friends. Let’s get into ship shape. Lets. Lets. Lets. Lets.

 LET’S DO THIS.

Nah. Let's not.

In reality, the couch seemed more like a comfortable solution to save the country from Covid. There I lay in the first week, watching Netflix, still driving to work (because #essential) and eating my Easter eggs before Easter. Because… #blasphemy.

Bubbles were the in “thing” to be in. Not that we had much choice. Us kiwis don’t like someone invading our personal bubble or bursting our bubble and now bubbles had become our livelihood. We lived, breathed and got judgy in our bubble. The daily walk saw many sussing out the other bubbles from the block. That couple chatting across the street, a bit too close together. Hmm were they in fact in the same bubble?! That lady waving goodbye and scurrying into the car with a pot in hand, you do not belong in that baking bubble do you? #poppop

The 1pm updates became a regular routine in the daily lives of kiwis. Daily attendance of the church of Ashley Bloomfield (Director General of Health and general eye candy to those over fifty) became mandatory. Never had I ever listened to a sermon more than I had the “off the top of his head” stats that Ash whipped out. It was a sermon even the non Bloomers couldn’t resist. The Bloomfield sensation had hit.

Then he took a day off.

 Chaos ensued.*

 *Note: Mum not happy. Boycotted the 1pm press conference as a protest.

WEEK 2

Me: Come on brain! Let’s work! Let’s go.

Brain: UGH. Let’s not. I am so tired. My bed looks ever so appealing right now. Good day.

Me: But it’s only morning…..you just got up.

Brain: I SAID GOOD DAY SIR.

It only took just over a week for my depression to realise that lockdown is where it can thrive and really feel alive in the comfort of my burrito blanket. It had now been given the green light to truly be a bubble blob. A now socially acceptable, memeable, bubble blob. Weekends meant staying in your PJ’s all day and the travel getaway from the bed to the couch AND back to the bed was your dream staycation. The most important, intense stable relationship that you have had in months was with the good old trustworthy fridge. Best fridge friends forever. #bfff

Zoom and Houseparty were suddenly the THING to do. It’s nice to jump on the bandwagon every once and a while and feel old. Nothing quite speaks your age than uttering the words, “CAN YOU HEAR ME....HELLO?...Oh whoops I have it on mute." *

I had no energy to do anything; all my energy was going into doing nothing. The math made no sense. The pressure ever present, oddly enough the stress over the lockdown non-existent. I had never felt any sort of panic. I had come to the conclusion, the only certainty I had and lockdown confirmed it, I am truly a hermit. And not to brag but what a time to be childless aye!

*Note: According to my mum Ashley looks great in blue.

WEEK 3 

Two words: TIGER. KING.*

What the hell did I just watch? As incubus would say, “Tiger King’s a roller coaster and I am not strapped in”. I’m paraphrasing. But yeah. I succumbed to the public pressure. I hitched a ride on that blasted bandwagon again and boy oh boy was I not disappointed. It ticked all the four boxes I was looking for in a lockdown Netflix documentary to take my mind off the pressure of being non productive.

1. Murder

2. Mayham

3. Madness

4. Mullet

The following morning after wrapping up the series, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the regrowth of my blonde locks wore a startling resemblance to Joe Exotic. OH NO. PANIC.

Me: Maybe if I cut myself some bangs, it will help.

Flashback to my sister giving me bangs when I was 14.

Narrator: It will not help. 

Me: Yeah, let’s not.

*Note: My mum had reported that Ashley’s tie on the Wednesday matched his eyes. Which are blue.

WEEK 4 

I HAVE ACCOMPLISHED NOTHING.

But I survived. I was one of the lucky ones. I still have a job, for now. I could regularly travel, so I was able to leave the house more often. Going to work every day gave the lockdown a sense of normality. I didn’t do anything productive but I think my brain was craving a break. If I had tried to start a hobby, write a book, get Tik Tok, I probably would have spiralled.

On a daily basis my depressive thoughts are present, but for some reason my mind kicked into survival mode and the one thing it had time for was “let’s get through this” and the one thing it didn’t have time for was negativity. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Sometimes that’s all you need, just an ounce of strength to survive. Screw the routine. Chuck that baby out the window. You don’t need to come out of lockdown with a mind blowing revelation about your existence, relationships, career or even abs. The first step to thrive in these uncertain times is to just simply survive.*

*Note: Don't say Ash isn't a babe...“Ash not a babe!!!! Sacrilege.” - Mum