Well doesn't time fly when you're in a constant state of dread. Two weeks into the lockdown, another two - hopefully only another two – to go, half-way there, half-way in the great national pursuit of climbing the walls, half-way before sweet, sweet release, if we're released. Bod Dylan'sawful dirge has to be slightly amended: Any day now, any day now, I might be released.
But it hasn't been that bad. It's actually been awesome, sometimes, a lot of fun, sometimes, slow and dreamy and nice, sometimes. The nation, tranquilised. The nation, mucking around at home. The nation, staring out of its windows, waiting for the all-clear.
The streets are empty – well, sort of. I go for walks in Te Atatu overlooking State Highway 16, and the traffic is thin but constant, and I'm being deprived of capturing one of those moody deserted-motorway photographs on my phone. There's obviously quite a lot of essential workers on the roads out west. No way is it just bogans going for a hoon.
The mind is emptied. God, all those nags telling us what books to read, what box sets to watch, what treats to bake, what exercises to inflict on our flesh! No one has taken a bit of notice. This is New Zealand. One of our deepest and most enduring traits is sloth. We don't want to think, or move; leave us alone.
The bank balance is emptying. I'm about to send off the last monthly invoice for one of my writing contracts which got cancelled thanks to Covid-19.
Oh well I suppose I should count myself lucky I haven't got the Zoom call – yet – to pack up and get out and report first-thing the next morning to the scrapheap, like my colleagues at Bauer magazines. So many people out of work, all around the country, so much hardship and distress. If the virus doesn't get you, there's always financial ruin.
Did you see the full moon on Tuesday night? Gee it was beautiful. It was held within a smokey ring, orange and purple, against light cloud. The thought occurred that maybe this was ominous, a sign of something bad. It wasn't.
It was just the full moon and some nice colours in a pleasing arrangement but it seems strange to look at anything in the world right now and accept that it's just life and nature going about its business, that it isn't in some way related to that one constant fact, that microbial tyranny of Covid-19.
The virus is everywhere. It's on our breath, it sticks to the surface of our skin, it gets inside our head and takes up deranged shapes in our dreams. The nation, dreaming Covid-19 dreams.
Most of them probably don't make a lick of sense but the underlying theme of a lot of them is bound to be fear, some kind of anxiousness, and also some kind of imprisonment – the nation, dreaming lockdown dreams.
New Zealand has a long history of repressions and suppressions. We're good at colonial rule, we're expert at building prisons, we're superb at telling people to pull their heads in and not express their thoughts. The lockdown has come naturally to a lot of people who have relished the opportunity to dob in those who have Broken The Rules.
God it was good when heath minister David Clark got busted, and the cops arrested that cretin who coughed in a Christchurch supermarket; it felt like a tension had been released. I'd be happier with a public execution but you can't have everything.
Two more weeks, maybe. A fortnight to go, hopefully. Jacinda Ardern was right, we've been "amazing". Going to the supermarket is depressing and we all look at each other with suspicion and hostility but we're flattening the curve – "crushing the curve", the Washington Post said of New Zealand – and the light at the end of the tunnel is within view. We're getting there. We're getting there.
