I'm still quite angry about it. I don't know where I got it, but I have a vague idea, and I'm not impressed with the whiny, cavalier attitude that got me sick. Lawd. All you have to do is wear a mask and wash your hands. Resistance to doing so made me sick, and I'm not thrilled about it. This is a deliberate understatement to mask how pissed I am.
Look, I get you're from a generation that very rarely heard the word 'no.' I get that you're generation is famous for your thoughtless selfishness. You've got yours, what do you care if someone else gets hurt or ill because of you? I get that you're the most coddled generation - you've not experienced any hardship, really (minimum wage when you were a youngin' could support a family with just one person working, university cost a fraction of what it does now, and housing was affordable), and so the wearing of a mask makes you feel really fucking put upon, but grow the fuck up. It's not about you, you selfish prigs.
I got away fairly luckily, despite being trapped in my bedroom for nearly fourteen days. I didn't get a cough. I feel like I'm in good health now. As of the writing of this, I'm now in my first day of freedom. I haven't taken advantage of that and gone outside yet. I'm too anxious at the moment. I'm nervous that I'm somehow still infectious, and that I might get folks ill. Public Health says it's all good, and this is quite a ways into the pandemic, so I guess they know what they're talking about.
But... it still weighs on my mind a lot, and I'm not really keen on being out in the world.
When you're reading this, it'll be four days of freedom. I'm probably at work. Probably quite anxious.
My experience of Covid was quite odd. I did not get a cough. Or even a fever, really. What happened was three or four days of intense lower back pain and an intense headache. This pain was distinct from my usual chronic back pain. It felt much more like the intense nerve pain I had when I had shingles. That is what prompted me to seek a Covid test - it felt viral.
When the back pain and headache left, it was replaced by an intense sore throat. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't swallow. I've had worse sore throats. This lasted for another three days or so. When the sore throat resolved, I was hit by an incredibly itchy rash. It spread quickly - from red, hot-to-the-touch patches on my elbows in the morning to a full body rash (even on my face and the bottoms of my feet) that itched terribly - though mostly on my wrists, as I remember. Luckily, that lasted only just longer than a day, and not three or more days. I've read that some folks ended up with as many as twenty days of this rash.
Oh, and somewhere in there, I lost my sense of smell and taste. As of the writing of this, it hasn't returned, but I am getting flashes of scent every so often. I don't know if it's just because my brain is trying to compensate for the nothingness it's getting and making stuff up or if I'm actually slowly getting my senses back.
It all fucking sucked, but I think I got away quite lightly, all things considered.
And I will miss being able to cuddle my cat all day. That was a pleasant thing to have while I was unwell. He's such a cuddly boy, and I always feel guilty leaving for work.
I spent most of my life these past two weeks in my bed, sleeping and eating and doing little else. I did try to write, but managed only two thousand words in all that time.
For that reason, there's no real writing update. I'm sitting at around 73 000 words currently. I will hopefully, with the return of routine and normalcy in my life, be writing again by the time this post is scheduled. I need to get this story done. I have so many others waiting in the wings...
Right, that's my news. I should be posting more regularly now that I'm better.
For now, just wear your fucking masks when you go out. It's a minor inconvenience that proves you're not a selfish prig (note: this doesn't apply to those who genuinely cannot wear one, but that's not who my ire is directed toward).