‘I’m living alone and I like it’ : Michael James reflects on seclusion

18.10pm SATURDAY 28 March 2020

Being alone and loneliness are not the same thing. It is not until you live alone and like it that you can feel the difference. ‘I’m living alone and I like it’ is an old Sophie Tucker song from the 40’s or 50’s. Girl power of its time. Check it out it is a great song. But being incarcerated against your natural desires to go out and about is of a totally different order. My first foray into social isolation occurred at the end of last week.

00.19pm

I had a dental appointment on Friday 20th to have the final fitting for my new denture. It was not ready again so I came home empty handed. I was fully mentally prepared to go into social isolation but I had to defer that until the clinic had the new denture. I had a trial run for 2 weeks, or so I thought. That evening I burnt the chicken pie, we the Pixie and I, were having for dinner. Undaunted I went ahead and ate the hard burnt crust anyway. In doing so I snapped a huge piece out of the tooth which had secured the previous denture. I could do nothing until Monday. I spent the week end terrified in case I got a severe infection. Luckily it all went well but my mental acceptance of a new reality of social isolation (SI) disappeared. I put everything on hold until I had spoken to the dental receptionist.

I went through the motions without really taking it all in. I did not fully grasp the seriousness of what was happening around me. I was an ancient ghost in the theatre watching a play on stage not really understanding what it was all about. Not grasping the fact that my going to the shops on Western Rd was putting myself in real danger. The one thing I did understand was the whole blanket coverage on TV and radio was doing my head in. I did not watch or listen to any news. I went into TV detox. The only TV news I have seen since then is Newsnight. They told me all I wanted to know. This is where I am still.

I called the clinic on Monday. They booked me for an emergency extraction the following afternoon. My good freind Art, bless him, picked me up for the appointment and brought me home again. In the meantime my silent unspoken fears began to surface in slippery wisps of realtime knowledge

This extraction could well put my life at risk. I have a heart condition and am on medication to thin the blood. A tooth extraction had the potential for a big bleed. Again my fears and fantasies were groundless. Everything went well. I arrived home only to meet the Pixie with his travelling kit over his shoulders. I was upset he was going. He told me he was leaving for special personal reasons and also he was terrified he would bring the virus back home. He did not want to put either of us in that position. I opened the flat door and stepped into emptiness. A vacuum of personality. He not only left physically but spiritually as well. There was just me and my flat. Cold and empty. I was now fully alone and having to deal with SI in realtime.

In some respects I thought it was OK to do a little local shop. Wrong. Craig, my wonderful new friend sent a text and asked if I wanted any shopping. Dare I ask him for gin, tonic water, ice and lemons? All I had was a wee drop of cheap brandy, about four fingers to be precise. Craig turned up and left my shopping outside the door. He did not come in but I managed to blow a kiss and say thank you as the lift doors closed. He forgot the ice and said he would bring it over the next day. I said no because that would give me a good excuse to go to the local co-op and for me to have some outdoor exercise. The exercise bit was fine but the shopping was forbidden as my lovely friend

Carol B told me in no uncertain terms on the phone the next evening. Too late as I had queued at the co-op. One out and one in. What a weird experience. Standing in front of a shop waiting to be allowed in. A bit like one of those Russian Babushkas in the 50’s queueing for cabbage or potatoes from a state run shop. My last shopping for some time. I have taken the the lovely Carol’s advice. Even wiping all the door handles, light switches, the letter box inside and out and the lavatory handle. I have gone out every day for a wee walk. Not touching a soul but I have shared the lift on 3 occasions. Don’t tell Carol.

I am now fully incarcerated. Kemptown’s modern version of The Nun of Monza.
The head is playing tricks. I am aware of my mortality more acutely now. All my props and games are exposed. I have nothing to fall back on. I am alone. I will have to get used to playing the role of Mrs Haversham to keep my sanity.