The fact that after two months I've finally finished reading ducks, Newburyport, the fact that I got into the rhythm of it quite early on but it felt like a slog nontheless, the fact that overall I'd say I enjoyed the insight into one person's mind, stream of consciousness, mountain lion, gun violence, mother-daughter relationships, polluted water, the fact that I could have done with less Laura Ingalls Wilder chat, the fact that all sense of time got distorted, sleep, wake, childhood memories, day-after-day, the fact that both nothing happened and everything happened, key events, flood, runaway, home invasion, mountain lion, the fact that it's a real feat of thought and creativity, the fact that I made cinamon rolls during the time I was reading this, but I don't have a Candy-Apple Red kneeding machine, the fact that now it's over I kind of miss her voice.
For the past five weeks I've only left the house to exercise. I've not been beyond a 2km radius from my house in that time.
This week I finally ventured further afield, hopping in the car to go to give blood at Newcastle Donor Centre. I was a little apprehensive about it, but it felt good to see some different scenery on the drive, passing by the cows on the Town Moor. The roads were quieter than usual but not as quiet as I'd expected. I found myself wondering where everyone was going.
While waiting my turn I bumped into a friend and we had a quick catch up. I hadn't realised quite how much those chance encounters are missing. The closest I've got recently are the momentary comedy stand offs on the street working out with strangers who is going to step aside.