Thankfully, my mental health is good since I decided to not dwell on things outside my control. This includes working out why the PM references movies, such as Groundhog Day and The Croods, when mansplaining COVID policy to us.

I no longer spend hours, sometimes weeks, ruminating on these sphinx-like riddles.

I'm focused on cracking the code of coordination in COVID times.

I'm the first to admit that I was MIA when basic coordination skills were given out. Nevertheless, in simpler times (when flu-like symptoms meant you had the flu), I could generally get from A to B will little thought.

QR codes are now my biggest hurdle.

I hear sniggering from the dexterous, but the struggle is real.

I could do the old-school sign in, but there's a good chance that I'll get tangled in the string tied to the pen, possibly pulling whatever it is attached to on top of me or a random child.

If I have a free hand, I can manage to ferret around in my cavernous bag for my phone and complete the scan. But I rarely have a free hand, especially when I go to the supermarket.

There are magic devices known as shopping trolleys, but I have a curious habit of rarely taking one to the car. Like Frank Costanza, I'm partial to a "feats of strength" challenge.

But a recent fateful outing forced me to concede that I would have to ditch my pack-mule impression, at least for now.

In a solid start, I exited the supermarket with four grocery bags hanging from my arms. I planned a clean run to the car, but the degree of difficulty increased when I detoured to the bakery.

As I bought a loaf, the lady behind the counter asked "Have you checked in?"

I hadn't.

Like a Twister player, I worked out how I could get my phone and wallet out of my handbag without putting down the four perfectly balanced shopping bags.

I conceded defeat, dropped the bags, completed my civic duty, and paid.

With bags back on my arms, I shuffled to the cafe.

I scanned in with my phone, and made it to the counter. Coffee was ordered. I waited.

I was feeling smug until I realised I'd left my loaf at the bakery.

I struggled out of the cafe and back to the bakery, imploring the lady to this time drop the bread directly into one of my bags.

Of course, I had to check in again, then check out, then go back to the cafe, which I hadn't checked out of, and check back in.

Mercifully, my coffee was waiting.

The last leg loomed. I had to make it to the car with four shopping bags, a loose loaf, handbag, and steaming hot beverage.

It was looking good until I couldn't recall where I'd parked the car.

I gave up, dropped the bags and took the lid off my coffee.

I patted myself on the back (with my imaginary extra hand) for at least having a go.

"I truly deserve this coffee," I told myself.

But the taste of (almost) victory would have been more satisfying if I'd actually removed my mask.

So close, yet so far.

deborah.richards@newcastleherald.com.au

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