The Plague, At Last

Early on in the pandemic, I told myself that it was only a matter of time until I got COVID-19: not if, but when. And behold! The time has come.

I woke up feeling sore and congested in the middle of the night a couple days ago, and on a hunch took a COVID test, which came back resoundingly positive. I have since spent my time quarantined in our guest bedroom, and will be here for several more days. Physically, I think the worst is over, and it hasn't been all that bad in the first place, thanks to vaccinations and what I hope is a fairly robust immune system. Any discomfort at this point is due mostly to spending far more time sitting or lying down than I'm used to, and to congestion, though I still have little energy or motivation. (I'm surrounded by books and want to read none of them.)

I quite smoking about three months into the pandemic. My habit had dwindled down to a few cigarettes a day by then, and most of those were purely routine nicotine addiction maintenance, so along with the concerns caused by COVID's penchant for pulmonary damage, it wasn't too hard to stop completely. It's now been two years and two days since I had a cigarette or used tobacco in any form, and I'm grateful that I didn't get COVID any sooner. I've got over 20 years of lung damage to cope with, and I sure as shit don't need that compounded.

I'm not proud to admit that I've been lax these last few months about COVID protocols, primarily mask-wearing, so I bear a good deal of responsibility for my current state. Things seemed to be getting better—or rather, not getting any worse, at least among the vaccinated population—and restrictions were lifted at work and elsewhere, so I got complacent. I'm less concerned about how this has affected me than I am about how my behavior has impacted others, so from now on I'll be more cautious.

All right, time to get some rest. I had to stop writing in order to repair the bed frame, which collapsed under me, and I did not have the energy for manhandling mattresses and box springs in a tight space, not to mention hammering nails. I am, as seems to be the case every five minutes since I got sick, exhausted.