After close to seven months of some version of lockdown in Melbourne, I’m fearful of relapse and wary of premature celebration
How are your Christmas plans coming along? Ordered the ham? Decided on the drinks list? Have you designed the perfect menu that caters to the gourmands in your lot, without alienating the fussy nephew who eats only carbs and Doritos?
Me neither. After close to seven months of some version of lockdown in Melbourne — seven bloody long months — the will and the energy to throw a huge party, to be part of one, has fled me. I am proud beyond measure of what Victorians have achieved but, like many, I am also changed: I’m wan, wary of premature celebration, fearful of relapse.
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