Dear Diary.
Today I put the cat out. Except I don't have a cat.
My offer to return to the NHS has so far not been taken up, which isn't such a bad thing tbh, given the risks involved. All the same I was a little disappointed, having drummed up the courage in the first place. I still have regular nightmares about that job. I can't even bring myself to say it's name. It's always the same dream, just in a different place. I've gone back to resume work, though I didn't really want to. It's disgusting and grim, just like it always was. I rarely feel any relief when I finally wake up, as even waking life is just a special kind of dream, just a way of delaying the inevitability of it all.
The upside of being a fully qualified medical technician is that I have little to no worry about catching anything. I learned the hard way how not to touch my face with my hands. That and the fact that you can only catch a contagion if it's there. Figures are still very low in this part of the country, not that you can trust them at all.
As for what's left of my career, there is almost nothing. Even when we come out the other side, while there will still be plenty of freelancers, it's highly likely that all the major events companies will have gone under. I guess we just have to wait and see. but that's what we do best. Waiting and seeing.
