It’s an unprecedented global pandemic and suddenly everyone’s a critic. Everyone, and I mean truly everyone has been giving unsolicited advice. Not just on how the earth is healing and humans are the virus (fuck off Extinction Rebellion), dangerous drugs that will kill you, not save you (fuck off Donald Trump), or nonsense symptom checkers that have no basis in fact (fuck all the way off thickos on Facebook). People everywhere are desperate to tell you what you should be watching while you’re stuck at home. I mean, let’s be real, no one has ever read Stylist magazine for culture. And you don’t see me advising on nail polish trends for the season (but it’s black, it’s always black) so stay in your lane Stylist! The person you need in a time of crisis is a socially awkward anxious organiser who has been running this precise scenario in her head for years, and has concluded the only logical thing to do is get really comfy and claim control of the TV remote.
Now, finally, you have the time! Binge away! But don’t binge the news; that’s something you need to limit for your own sanity and peace of mind. And by all means if you have the great American novel in you (or any nationality will do), and you have the motivation, go for it! But don’t feel pressured to be productive. Everything is wild and your whole year has gone tits-up in just a few days. You need time to process what’s happened, and find the mental resilience to get through through the day. Dump those haters who make you feel guilty for being a bit unproductive. Do what makes you feel good. But please, for the love of God, keep any and all coronavirus poetry to yourself.
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