Plague Journal: Things become normal

What we fear and envy most about animals is they have no normal. Looking at our Cat, everything seems new and threatening to it. This must be awful, aye, but exhilarating too. How do you relax when you can be eaten alive at any moment? And yet our cat does. Despite everything appearing to it in LSD threat level, it manages to cope. And when it goes out into our dismal back yard it is as if it was entering the primordial garden. Every small thing intrigues it. A leaf, a fly, something that we cannot see.

How did we get so jaded? How did it get so late?

We are dismayed at how normal this pandemic has become. This will likely be our last entry in the series on life after the end of the world. Because it turned out the old world ended, yes, but no thing has really changed. Small things become banal then relics as the world turns. When something huge happens – the world ending, the banks collapsing and so tediously on – we expect the big things trump the small. But they do not. It is the small things. We live our lives noticing small things. Small, tedious things. Grit almost, amongst the cogs of life. And the small fucking things just go on and on and on.

Things are born, glow white with energy and then fade. Novelty becomes everyday becomes boring, becomes forgotten.

And this pandemic is becoming normal, boring. Time to forget it and look for the new.