I have POMO

Last week was such a day. It was completely packed from eight in the morning until eight in the evening. With fun things, by the way, no complaints. After a shopping day in Antwerp, I was going to have a drink with my friend L, which I was really looking forward to. She has a new job that I wanted to know all about. A message popped up, asking if we could meet around half past four. I couldn't make it because of Antwerp. But at my time, it didn't work out for her either. In the meantime, friend I messaged me. When we would have that drink. I had forgotten about that again. But the more, the merrier, so I asked if she wanted to come too. At the time that suited me, she already had dinner guests at her place, so where I initially thought I would have one and later two friends for drinks, I suddenly found myself all alone. Well, at least with girls and a dog. The warm blanket was turned up high, the glass was filled, the fire crackled, and it wasn't a problem at all if I suddenly dozed off for the week. No matter how much I love my friends and how uplifted I can feel after a meeting, a cancellation can bring great happiness.

In this rotten Covid time, cancellations are raining down again. Usually, such a message starts with: ‘You can feel it coming, but...’, with an explanation that a certain event cannot take place. Of course, I find it a shame because oh, how wonderful it would have been to have a lunch of Moët & Chandon today while I would still be feeling a bit off from The Great Song Festival Party the night before. But the gaps in the agenda that provide space for all those dusty things to do lists, the total justification for blissful doing nothing, lying on the couch in your sports outfit under soft blankets and watching the latest season of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, oh, that borders on the divine.

POMO, I'm crazy about it.