Broken is Beautiful by Jane Shearer

Author:Jane Shearer [Jane Shearer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jane Shearer
Published: 2023-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

27

June 2020–25 February 2021

Months pass in which I care about so little that time passes both painfully slowly and so unremarkably I can barely remember that the months have happened. If I allow myself to surface from my fog of not caring, I revisit the knowledge that I deliberately destroyed the only good thing that had happened to me in more than eight years. I don’t want to know this, so I sink back into not caring.

There is the odd punctuation in my not-caring oblivion. In August, toilet paper, hand sanitiser and pasta sauce disappear off supermarket shelves, so I check the headlines to find Auckland is in Alert Level 3 again and the rest of the country in Level 2, ratcheting up from the Level 1 we achieved in June.

In September, when everyone stops wearing masks, I deduce we are back in Level 1 in time for the New Zealand parliamentary elections.

In the October election Jacinda Ardern and her Labour Government return to power in a landslide win. I don’t vote because I am in a particularly not-caring mood on the day of the election. A single vote doesn’t make a difference, so why bother? I hear Gran telling me voting is an essential duty for every adult citizen to be part of a functioning democracy, but I ignore her.

The only other occurrence of note is Bank Aotearoa offering to extend my loan repayment holiday until the end of March 2021. Another six months in which I have to care about very little indeed. Sounds good to me.

The money I had saved to start making my repayments is turning out to be handy, but not for the bank. I only go shopping when I absolutely must, but, when necessary, I open my bedside drawer and take a note out of my reserves.

I summon up the effort to email Bank Aotearoa to request a further repayment holiday extension, which is granted. A letter attached to the offer reiterates I must keep attending my support group.

OA is indeed all I keep doing, beyond the basics required to survive. Most OA days the same sort of refrain plays in my head … I have to get out of bed and go to the OA meeting … I don’t have to get out of bed and go to the OA meeting … I don’t want to get out of bed and go to the OA meeting … I have to attend all but two meetings of the OA group to meet Bank Aotearoa’s conditions … I could not attend this particular OA meeting … I don’t want to have to explain at the next meeting why I didn’t attend today’s meeting. Going to OA always falls out of the mix as the lesser of a variety of evils so I attend the meetings.

On Thursdays therefore, I reluctantly shed my brown check flannel pyjamas which also form my daywear. When it’s cold I wear a red synthetic dressing gown over my pyjamas at home.

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