Having finally had my own dose of covid last week, I can safely say that between the wonder of vaccines and the mildness of Omicron, well, I’ve had worse hangovers. Yes, I was lucky not to have been sicker, but the biggest discomfort was the financial hit from not being able to go to the BBB.
We have, according to the UK authorities, now reached the stage of ‘living with Covid’, though with a government this thoroughly untrustworthy, it’s unsurprising that the divisions between those who want to embrace life and those who think we should all still be hiding under our beds haven’t fully gone away.
Though it would have been nice to have had a break between Pestilence and War, wouldn’t it?
There’s been an article about joylessness doing the rounds recently, which makes some interesting points but completely misses others. I thought of both that and the Covid self-blaming when the end of this week saw my social media fill up with further self-flagellation about… whether enjoying or even mentioning your main sources of pleasure is immoral during a global crisis.
If people don’t get the fuck over this utter, utter bullshit, we are going to be in worse trouble. There are things you can do to help and support the victims of war, of course, but you getting laid, or having a particularly delicious dinner, going to the theatre or just posting a picture of your pet hamster doing something adorable have absolutely zero impact on the suffering millions out there. Please bear in mind that the witless malice of Putin and his various supporters is deeply puritanical: they think everyone else’s lives should be about drudgery, duty and obedience (and, of course, superstition-backed nativist male supremacy). So when you’re pissing on everyone else’s chips because you think it will make them Better People, maybe think again.
Be defiant in your joy; make a little space for kindness but remember that benign hedonism is worth defending.