Covid and I

Not one to be left out of the narrative (what narrative?) I have now joined the Covid crowd. So here I am in bed with the dreaded virus, making the best of it. I know when to resist and when to beat a hasty retreat. Last night I provided my throat to the Covid victory parade. With every swallow my soreness was their jubilation. I’m letting them have the best of my nose and throat while I cough and sneeze my way to oblivion.

However, I have no plans on going to oblivion. Word has it they have no pumpkin there. I am using this time to drift off into waking dreams and half-thoughts. Is there such a thing as half a thought? I’m going to look at this period as a reprieve from information glut. There is a season for everything under the sun.

I have three books within reach but I am not reaching for any. Reading seems to demand a certain psychic energy I don’t possess. Much can be said for staring into the cottage cheese ceiling with half-closed lids. At this rate I may stumble on the meaning of life.

I am taking Paxlovid because I am immunocompromised. I’ve always suspected I am my own worst enemy. When your own immune system can’t get along with itself you’re in trouble.  Haploids against haploids! Can’t we just get along?

Janice has me in isolation. She feeds me and tends to my needs in ways which I may have tended to her fifty to sixty years ago. I can still smell the eucalyptus and benzoin in the vaporizer. I suppose I am being reparented. Covid can take credit for that.