Stay indoors. Stay safe, they said. They’re right, of course: if you stay indoors you won’t catch Coronavirus, and – more importantly – you can’t spread it. But what I didn’t know is that being
Stay indoors. Stay safe, they said. They’re right, of course: if you stay indoors you won’t catch Coronavirus, and – more importantly – you can’t spread it. But what I didn’t know is that being trapped indoors by myself for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week would present its own set of dangers. So far, I’ve spent 312 hours totally alone, so forgive my melodrama: I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. I might be safe from Coronavirus (for now), but there’s a myriad of ways in which I could meet an untimely demise at home.
Last week, the weather warmed up, and as an avid sun-worshipper, I wanted to sit on the balcony. However, my balcony is an ancient, poorly constructed, flimsy death-trap made from a single plank of wood precariously suspended three-floors up. I’m pretty sure there’s a high chance that I could fall straight through it. I limit myself to sitting as still as a statue for 20 minutes a day.
Not only is the balcony a disaster waiting to happen, but it is also inhabited by every pigeon in Bratislava. Before quarantine, I never went out there, and so the birds moved in. Incidentally, this is not the first pigeon problem I’ve ever had, as you might remember from India (read it here). Unfortunately, the balcony is coated in feathers and solidified piles of pigeon crap. I cleaned up as much of the mess as I could, but there’s still a high chance I could contract bird flu if I spend too much time out there.
I’ve never been great at looking after myself: I mean, who has time for grocery shopping and cooking? Being locked in for a minimum of fourteen days was always going to be problematic. With one day left, my fridge is down to an egg, half a lemon, a potato and 6 bottles of wine (so it’s not all bad!). I ate cookie dough for two days straight. For the first time ever, I am looking forward to going grocery shopping, and I’m praying that Slovakia doesn’t have to enter stricter measures.
It’s not only the balcony that’s dangerous. To keep fit, I work out every day. HIIT training, yoga, Zumba, cycling – you name it, I’ve done it. My large, high-ceilinged lounge is perfect for high impact workouts. Still, the polished wooden floors are another danger as I discovered when I went skidding across the floor during a particularly enthusiastic mid-air split jump in a dance class.
Falling Out of the Window
With the balcony being a pigeon-ridden death-trap, I have discovered that the casement is a great fresh-air alternative. It’s lovely sitting in the window listening to the street performers playing outside. I just have to be careful not to stretch too far when taking photos of the street.
Thankfully, my quarantine ends tomorrow. Maybe I will survive, after all.