From under the sheet

Last year at this time, the cell worker Bojan fell ill with the flu virus.?He summarised his experiences of being “cut off from the world” in his column FROM THE COVER (Naš čas weekly, March 2019). Do you notice any unforeseen parallels or tangents with this year’s corona?

FROM UNDER THE SHEET

We are often confronted with unpredictable situations as we move from one era to another. That’s when something doesn’t align with our expectations, our assumptions, or even our sixth sense. This winter is also looking anything but normal as we head into spring. And the modification of the weather and its extremes has also armed them with a host of viruses, which such a climatic chiggumigu allows to flourish in paradise. Unfortunately, it is those who let the villains in, in various drip-drip-drip ways, who get the short end of the stick. My body has recently been dealing with this experience and has proved to be an excellent host. He made the RNA viruses of the Orthomyxoviridae family feel as comfortable as possible. The micro-villains have taken it upon themselves to decide whether or not a three-week diet of welfare is good for me. The only employment in the horizontal position was vitamin supplementation and sipping hectolitres of infusions in the rather fragile hope that the next day would be better. In a forced isolation, which pushes the events of the outside world somewhere far away, the intellect occupies itself with what it has at hand. A variety of content in both analogue and digital formats helps to break up the monotony of the day. Quarantine makes you judge the quality and, at the same time, the credibility of the information that comes to your bed by feel alone. The overture of illness, due to the viral onslaught on all bodily fronts, allows only short intervals of information as you make your way through your mobile phone to social media. We are running out of power to do more. But even that is enough to give you an idea of who is indulging in skiing on the sunny side of Austria, who is rooting for our Ilka, who misses the puppy or who is ejaculating their own frustrations through negative comments. As the days of recovery pass, the time for contact with the outside world increases. Occasionally, lying down even allows sitting. That’s when the eyes are confronted with a mass of advertising material. A rough estimate of the number of products that come through our letterboxes from various retailers, eager to satisfy our consumer appetites, is in the region of – roughly – ten thousand or so per week. With thousands of items like this, even the most ardent anti-spender can find inspiration. Discounts, promotions and sales just can’t wait. When they expire, they are immediately replaced by the next one. The body’s climate is also progressing. It’s time for a change of location. From the bed to the sofa. The field of vision is occupied by echoes without Bobovnik, the traditionally critical selection of the Emmys, a tense follow-up of the events in Åre, Sweden, and even a stray product of the seventh art in between, as well as a bunch of more or less educational cartoons by arrangement with the younger members of the family. The outside world is still spinning at a constant speed during isolation, and too fast for most. Too much on the hop and not thought through enough. Thieving sandwiches, arranged mock-ups, combustible waste, indigestible kebabs, overpriced fuel are, for example, a subalpine counterbalance to the plasticisation of the oceans, the Mexican walls, the cold wars, the Venezuelan double presidents, the English Brexit, and many other such anomalies of civilisation, which are not a very promising projection for the long-term existence of our race. The hand reaches for the remote control and the off key hides the problems in the darkness of the screen. It’s time for tea, lemons, kiwi, motherwort and mallow. Regular dosing is also said to help the virus to catch up. My body is a shade less tired than in the past few days and my hands are reaching for the book. Peter Rezman writes on the cover. And below it, the Liquid Ribbon. I like stories with a local setting, because I can inhabit them more vividly thanks to my knowledge of the environment, which is even easier with Rezman’s artistic approach. It reveals the interesting natural, historical, industrial and social layers of the valley, which would remain unknown to many people, even in the local environment. Among them, he weaves emotional threads into the novel, which give the reader a lot of room for interpretation of social reflections. Damn good book, I commented aloud as I read it. Such spiritual nourishment is sometimes better than a thousand pharmaceuticals in the battle against physical invaders. My well-being confirmed it. The body finally shook off the sick room at home and took its first steps among the bells and trumpets with joy. They didn’t exist before the flu.