Judge all you like, but don’t be surprised if those marginalised from the gifts of green fields disregard emergency legislation.
Warning: Rantings ahead – do not read if easily offended.
It’s three am and I’m mad. Been a while since I’ve had a sleepless rage. Strange times. I’m angry about myself for judging people who were out and about. Lockdown my arse. I’ll tell you what, all the big posh twats posting pictures of your gardens going on about #staythefuckin. Why don’t you go and live in noisey cramped apartment block for the duration and then see how sanctimonious you feel about people needing to #getthefuckout?
G’way with the social justice. If you lived in a block of flats with no sunlight or broken elevators stinking of piss with teenage children, the corona virus would honestly be the least of your worries. I dare say you might even be that resentful of an unfair society a bit of viral vandalism might turn you on. Bloody chia seeds innit.
In my cramped quarters, 16 people live in a sunlight-deficient courtyard which leads to the busy hub on the main street. Needless business still peddle their overpriced wares, attracting footfall by the dozens – potential carriers who presumably take their organic produce back to their half-acre dormers in the townlands. Hundreds of thousands live like me, most of them more unfortunate as they are cut off from the green countryside; even their community garden projects are now shut.
How do they feel seeing pictures of lush gardens resplendent with fresh organic fruits and vegetables from people sounding like Brits “making the best of it whatto”? Plant a window box you say with patronising ignorance. That is akin telling someone who wants to go swimming to run a bloody bath. Which I don’t have. Maybe I’ll wash the dishes with my goggles on.
No wonder people are ignoring social isolation and hitting the beaches. Who the hell was I to judge? There are levels to to what degradation people can endure before they say “f*** the rules.” Can you try and understand why they would? What have the rules ever done for them? With the soul cramping oppression of concrete shitholes, coupled with the insecurity of the rental market and the lack of any way to a better situation, a bad cough is hardly a major concern. At least not enough to pack up the COPD inducing weed that pushes away intrusive thoughts about taking drastic action.
All the talk about packs of Yuutes* roaming the city streets, but why should those kids care about the COVID vulnerable generations that went beforehand? Generations who idly participated with the State in creating the conditions that make owning anything impossible. So what if a few auld ones kick the bucket; won’t that free up a council house or two? Then they’ll have a garden to tend in the next pandemic.
I knew that world only too well. Blatantly my thinking still goes there in times of frustration. And I’m still trapped in a bloody box that I pay more than a mortgage in rent for. Right now this box feels really fucking small and with all the healthy habits I have built into my life to prevent the claustrophobia denied from me for the foreseeable I wonder how long it’s going to be before I start punching the walls. So yeah, judge all you like, but don’t be surprised if those marginalised from the gifts of green fields disregard emergency legislation in a bid to hold on to precious sanity. Sharing honestly has taught me over the years that my thoughts are not unique. For some it’s going to be a harder shutdown than others.
*Yuutes = Young, Unemployed, Unwilling (or Unable) To Emigrate.
