Isolation Can Be Cathartic

So, if you know me well, or even a little, you probably know I’m Scottish. And if you know that you may have pieced together, with the aid of the news, that I’ve been stuck in a snow storm dubbed “The Beast from the East” (cringey, I know) for a few days now. People all around me are going stir crazy, but the isolation has been a real balm for me. No need to interact no need to explain, no need to deal with anyone by my dogs, and my closest family. And even that’s limited.


When you end a relationship as long as the one I was in people ask. They ask and ask and ask, and they do it without any thought for you or how draining it is to tear your guts out again and again and again.

Because it feeds their need for gossip fodder and moral outrage. Because they’re so fucking nosey that they can’t possibly let your life burn down without holding a camera up to catch the gory details.

So this;


This thigh high, snowdrift barrier that’s bigger than my dogs and prevents the outside world from getting in (or me getting out, to be fair) has been my saviour. My balm. It’s the thing that’s made sure I don’t have to say “No-Sandra-I-Don’t-Know-If-They’re-Still-Together” or “Thanks-for-asking” through gritted teeth for the eightieth time in a week.


I am a feral-cat kind of human; I dislike being coddled, or approached without warning. I hate forced interaction, and my Church of Scotland upbringing runs in direct contrast to this. The tea mornings and church sales are not places in which privacy thrives, and lavender clad, bingo going vultures (sorry *older women*) are talcum powder smeared, kindly looking, cotton covered hatchets in disguise. Steel runs deep in ex-mining communities, and half of these women are swords in taffeta. They want to know, and, if I sound bitter here bear with me, they genuinely don’t care if you repeating the information for the millionth time hurts. They feed on that shit.


Even avoiding these spaces, as I have been able to do thanks to the slow event calendar of post-Christmas, doesn’t save you; the Hyacinth Bucket’s of the world are never far.


So, my snow days have been great, thank you very much, and I’d live like this in a Groundhog day style montage if I could. But, alas, life goes on.

We can do this…



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