That's What There Is

 My brain is full again. 

They have changed the interface on the blogging platform. 

There is spam everywhere.

There is noise and rush and complaining about politicians and teachers and hurling coaches. 

There is good masks and bad masks and unrepressed sneezes.

There are good writers, better writers. I cannot read fast enough. I cannot type at all.

There is the hint/sniff/possible possibility of legitimate guilt-free childcare (aka school) and I can smell the freedom, but I know better than to trust it.

There was sun and sand and gentle breeze. Now there is lashingness and dampness and soggy towels. 

There is a pain in my sternum. There is the lack of adherence to the physio's advice. 

There is a list. 

There is no end to the list. 

There is the hesitation to speak about such things. 

There is a speed and a slowness to each day which is almost unbearable, and yet it is borne.

There is strength and bravery and good humour and kindness, and there is the lack of these things. 

There is the darkening of the clouds. There is the blue sky.