I tipped the last of my day moisturiser onto the palm of my hand yesterday morning. Smearing this SPF 15 cream into my face has been routine for almost two decades, part of whatever you could say constitutes a brief ‘beauty regime’. I thought to myself, oh no, as my skin was still quite dry. Then I remembered I’ve barely been outside for over a week now (do I still need to worry about UV rays indoors?) and that instead I should treat myself to that expensive pot of good moisturiser I received it at Christmas, earmarked ‘for later’. So I pulled it out of the cupboard. Because now’s the time for the small indulgences we find as our lives retreat further inside our homes.
No doubt like most of you, I’ve been attached – you could even say obsessed – with the news this month and keeping across all the latest developments as this sickness spreads across the planet. And I’ve wanted to blog, but have also been mindful of not adding to the noise. Plus, in a way that’s both weird and comforting, my university studies have pressed on unchanged because I am studying online. And, somehow, despite my lack of focus, my marks have been pleasing so far.
Which has all led to a heavily reduced amount of leisure reading so this post will be brief. I’ve only just waded back into the comforting world of Lyra Belacqua in The Secret Commonwealth – The Book of Dust: Volume 2 by Philip Pullman. I read an essay or two (they’re quite short, perfect for my concentration levels) of Karen Hitchcock’s The Medicine: A Doctor’s Notes when I’m feeling up to it. And finally, My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout. Now I understand the praise laid at Strout’s feet. I do, I do.
What are you reading this month? Please stay safe and well.
