I think I can confidently speak for every Melbournian when I say, it's been a long 48 hours.
Oh, how quickly I had forgotten how all-consuming the unknown and sense of impending doom can be.
How quickly I had forgotten the constant refreshing of Twitter to read whispers of what someone had heard from someone else that someone in a senior leadership position had said.
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How quickly I had forgotten the daily press conferences and the desperate hope for a North Face jacket that would become our cult hero and symbol of good news.
Oh, how quickly I had forgotten it all.
The wounds had healed, and that vicious daily cycle was all but a distant memory.
A bad relationship that you tell yourself you’ve learnt from and are better for it.
We were putting ourselves out there again. Back to exquisite indoor dining! Live theatre! Various footballs! We’d moved on.
But those wounds left scars and in 48 hours, the stories they painted on our skin were no longer tales from the past.
As if no time had passed at all, Melbourne was dependent on the ex from 2020, diving right back into an unhealthy relationship with the daily presser.
On this day that we process what is hopefully only a seven-day lockdown, I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.
I think I would prefer to be mad because at least it feels like an active energy.
I don’t have the energy to be mad, because I am already tired. The ideal way to process this news is to be optimistic, know it is for the greater good and trust that seven days is all it will be.
However, the reality for many of us is how reminiscent this is of the same time last year and with those memories, optimism quickly fades.