Damn ‘Rona

A little sparrow flew into my living room French doors today. Not because they’re so impeccably clean that you think they might be open, mind you, because I am a lot of things in life, but not a frequent window-cleaner. The dull thud when it hit the glass distracted me from something I was editing for work, and when I looked over, it was on the ground, motionless. My heart broke right on the spot, there and then.

After rushing over and picking up this little bitty thing (that obviously must not’ve been the brightest tool in the shed for hitting a window in full flight) I sat there holding it. A shivering, fluffy and warm little creature. These birds are so fragile that I could literally feel it’s every shallow breath pump up that little chest and every fluttering heartbeat into my fingertips.

It was only after I’d warmed him in my hands for a good ten minutes that he slowly started to come around, perking up as I held him. And after a sip from a bottle cap of water and a hesitant start into the hedge around my backyard he flew off (hopefully not into any other doors).

But that’s when it struck me that this was the first time I actually genuinely touched a living creature in a good solid two months. The first bodily heat against mine. The first closeness to another beating heart. Ever since Corona struck there’s been articles popping up about skinhunger. About touch-longing and about contact-deprivation and the way it’s affecting an entire populus of people that’s gotten way too used to the ease of human contact.

Whenever I’d struggled these past two months with that feeling of ‘neediness’ for partnership. And that desperation for touch, or sex – I blamed it on the not-having-carnal-relations (and that longing has been often, let me tell you). Not too strange a connection, I’d say.

But as I sat there, still knelt down on the ground where I’d released that little bird after warming my soul on it’s warm little body – I realized that I might have been looking at this all wrong. Maybe what I’ve been missing is not so much of a romantic partner – but just closeness in general. Maybe I’ve just been too blind to make the connection to corona with my tunnel vision of ‘love is my only purpose’.

The added difficulty of enduring a breakup during corona is that, I feel like, I’ve possibly not attributed my feelings and problems and needs to the right scapegoats. Or addressed them in the right way. When all of these things happen at the same time it becomes impossible to attribute things to the actual determining factors with certainty. Maybe I haven’t really been as heartbroken as I’ve been thinking that I am. Maybe my complete disinterest in acquiring a new boo is not caused by my shattered heart – but by corona.
Damn ‘Rona.

Up until now I’ve been going pretty easy on this corona business. No passionate hate on my part. I appreciate the working from home. The added attention to important topics and the way it’s reshuffled our priorities. But now that I see the potential to blame my current weary-of-love state on something as simple as unsatisfied skinhunger…DAMN ‘RONA! That must mean I’m not broken. The world is. KA-CHING midlife crisis averted! 😉.