I wake up with Rona on my mind a lot recently.

That half-awake-sleep vapour trail of a dream.  Wispy and fleeting.  Dissolving as I try and look at it. They are not bad dreams. Just ying-yang kind of stuff.  Always a left-right. An either-or (all with lots of wriggle room in between).

I consider this another certificate in my graduation from Rona-mode.

On the one hand there is the absolute. Rona-mode. Die or live. Catch Rona and die. Don’t catch Rona and live. Numbers up – death. Numbers down – no death today. And then the other numbers. The behavioural experiment numbers. The “rule of six” being the latest.

I was watching the news last night. Come to the conclusion again that Rona is a godsend to the news organisations. Even better than Brexit. Another few drops of Rona blood in the water and the media sharks go into a feeding frenzy. And we look on aghast. Addicted to the horror show before us. The latest is Christmas.

Will there be Christmas this year.

My subconscious is sifting. Resisting the horror show. Seeing more and more the carefully crafted performance instead. Finding Normal even in all the shrieking headlines.

My “safe side” keeps looking at the bit I can look after – six feet in front and six behind. Rationalising superbly even when that “space” is invaded by someone (who has no idea they are “invading”).

Then the little ones and family.  Ones I see day after day – know at every level – know the symptom checker and have checked them day after day – checked me day after day – the “graduated” rational living-safely-with-Rona side of my life.

And then the noise.  The feeding frenzy.  The will Christmas be cancelled.  The horror show.  Our addiction.  That keeps on and on and on and on.

The R … the x in 100,000 … the localised restrictions … the fines … the police interventions … the Rona-Mode!  That incessant never-ending noise now digitally embedded in our psyche.  Now feeding news organisations, charitable organisations, science organisations, medical manufacturers, drugs manufactures.  Weaponising and monetising wherever and whenever it touches.

I remember as a young man-child thinking we would all die in a nuclear holocaust. Cuba.  The stand-off.

Russia and Europe.  We would be overrun (killed) by their tank numbers, land forces superiority and tactical nuclear weaponry.

HIV.  Bird Flu.  Eggs.  Butter.  Smoking.  Drinking.  Obesity.  Mental Health.  Religion.  Dementia.

Always something that means we live in fear.  Or should if we know what’s good for us.
And then this (another little google while writing this post)…

“Causes of Death – 56 million people died in 2017. What caused their death? How did the causes of death change over time and differ between different countries and world regions? And what are the risk factors that lead to early death? These are the big questions we are answering here.” (Our World in Data – Causes of Death)

And a very telling picture: data of deaths … our perception of death … and media reporting of death.

Massively skewed.

My brain knows all this. But is subjected to the “skewed way” we live and breath day after day in so many ways I don’t even consciously notice.

My subconscious has all the tools I need to make sense of my six feet in front and behind. I just have to listen to my vapour-trail-half-waking dreams. Find spaces like this safe space to have in my life.

As for Christmas?  Of course it will “happen”.

And we will do what we do so well every day: adapt and embrace and move on. Because even our best loved traditions never stay the same. Not if I look at them closely enough.

Instead of my weaponised and monetised must be “romantically perfect” (skewed) taught way of thinking.

❤️❤️❤️