Working from home at the moment feels like an exercise in deceit.
Work is, of course, always a little bit about pretending.
We use words we don't entirely understand. We close Facebook when our boss walks past. We nod that we've done something when really s**t I forgot but I'll do it right now.
But at the moment, I feel like a child impersonating an adult at a computer I don't quite know how to work.
On video calls, I watch my brow furrow in concentration, performing the part of someone engaged in a very important meeting. When the call ends, I type intently on my work keyboard, performing eager employee - as though I might be able to convince myself that this is any more than an act.
Watch: Things you never say in 2021. Post continues after video.
I look around at the people I work alongside, at friends who are doing the same but with children thrown in the mix, and I just think: How are you doing this? How are we all - particularly in Sydney and Victoria right now - getting out of bed, day after day, and doing this?
If a crisis of this magnitude happened to us specifically at any other moment in our lives, we'd take some f**king time off. We'd recalibrate. Loved ones would send us flowers and cards about how unfair life can be. But because this particular major life event happens to be a global pandemic and subsequent lockdowns, the grief we're feeling is not unique to us. In fact, we spend most of our time trying to convince ourselves we're not even entitled to feel it.
We must begin, as always, with an acknowledgement of the ways in which we are lucky. And though I sound cynical - this is of course important.
I am lucky - so lucky - to be working right now.