May 01, 2020 2 min read


Outside, the world has come to a standstill. Everything has frozen in the warmth of April. Cars are sparse, birdsong’s become a farce and even the trees have turned to glass. 

But the insides of our minds are whirring away. 

Get this: Everyone is having quarantine dreams. 

(If you’re not having quarantine dreams, I’m sorry I have generalised you in my sweeping statement. I advise you to eat some cheese before bed to avoid feeling left out).

Despite our social distance, we’ve merged into a collective consciousness – one that teeters in its sleep between dark delusions of anxiety and bizarrely bold patterns of colour. 

I dream of cabarets and pranks. You probably do too. I also dream of helping old relatives walk and dogs doing Pilates. You probably do too. It’s a mixed bag. 

And I find myself Googling these symbols in the morning. What do they mean? What are our brains trying to tell us?

Do we love the chill of never-ending duvet days, or do we miss the smell of the tube? Or maybe we just want dogs to do Pilates. 

No one knows. Literally no one. Especially not us.

Get this: I am on autopilot. 

Somewhere in the middle of this vibing and not vibing seesaw that we’re on, my sense of focus has started to shrink. 

Like the last kid to be picked for a sports team, it’s feeling neglected by my boredom, my mindlessness and my wacky dreams. 

Everything is sitting like a layer of soot on the top of my mind. 

I am furry with indifference, which grows like a dust bunny in an unkept room.

I remember long ago, before the outside world came to a standstill, there was a time when I was able to concentrate.

And then something changed.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. But you have to promise not to tell your flatmates. 

Get this: I found focus in a bottle. 

No, it’s not tequila. 

I’ve found something that breathes life into my body. Something that fills me with fizz. Something that dances around on my taste buds. 

Something that is so cosmic it puts our galaxy to shame. 

Something that obliterates the layer of soot on my brain. That sweeps away the dust bunny of indifference.

But seriously, you’re not allowed to tell your flatmates. Ok? They might steal my supply.

Wait. Before I tell you, I need to give you a disclaimer: I’m not your guru. I’m not writing this as a ‘life-hack’. I’m not one of those ‘influencers’ that will round off a rave with #ad. 

Get this: I’m writing this because I care about you. 

Not your flatmates. I haven’t met them yet. It would be too soon. I’ve only met you. This stays between us. Ok?

I found Fix8. You should drink some too. 

Get on my level. I know you want to, because you think I’m cool.

I think I’m cool too. But it’s probably the Fix8 talking.

PS: After drinking Fix8, I now understand the meaning of my quarantine dreams. I would share, but you’re not ready to know just yet. 

Speak to me once you’ve had your first bottle.

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