The days passed by, a blur in the quarantines and lockdowns, not knowing what day of the week it is unless you looked for it specifically, not what surprise the day holds in store for you. My wife and I, like a vast majorly of other couples locked in together used the time to have our fair share of fun, interspersed with working from home, and going our own thing.
Yesterday my wife was unnaturally quiet as we sat down to lunch once again on the now ever so common bread from the local baker and canned meat. She answered in monosyllables, my questions as to what was wrong, a question any good husband with half a brain would ask, to understand what you inadvertently would have done to elicit such a state in your wife.
But this was different. She didn’t seem angry. Or irritated. Or even sad. She was just feeling low, she told me. The monotony of our routines, starting to take its toll I imagined. She was always the outdoorsy one. The adventurer, the traveller, while I preferred a good book or a good show in our own house than a wander in the woods.