I do not feel that my work achieves meaning for people who are suffering. I think it reinforces the dynamic of a ruling elite propped up by the suffering–and certainly I am one of the former even if I’m a 99% instead of a 1%. What can I say of use? And whatever I try to say gets twisted into something boring and corporate or overwritten by my colleagues. I’m tired and afraid and not feeling particularly prescient. I long for a small house by the sea with a fireplace and a garden and a quiet life but what would life look like in a few years? How would I support myself? I don’t have the capital for a life like that. And do I want, really want, to leave London for a life of fewer services and options? Less infrastructure? And where? The clock ticks on, my work beckons. So tired. Can I say anything meaningful about this pandemic? Must I? It’s so all-consuming, must it swallow my professional voice as well?