The Time I Got the 'Rona (part 2)
Good afternoon, universe.
I have some company today. This is my little Fish Taco. She's a 2-year-old rescue calico that is missing the last third of her tail. What remains of it is broken in two places, implying it got shut in a door once upon a time. It doesn't bother her at all, and she's quite happy to spend her time waiting for the afternoon sun with me. She's very understanding, and isn't fighting the fact that she has to stay at the foot of the bed. If I ever doubted that this cat loves me it's been wiped away by her checkups on me this week.
One of the kids asked what I was doing today. I gestured to the computer on my lap and shrugged, "This?" But that's not entirely true. My crusade on the wife's side of the bedroom continues. Bless this endeavor Marie Kondo, for today I am diving into a chest of several dozen pairs of distressed denim and cargo shorts. Simultaneously, I will have Adam Savage's method of First Order Retrievability playing in the back of my mind, and will be applying this to pants. Wish me luck.
Overall, I feel guilt for bringing this entire situation onto my family, for possibly infecting someone at work, for endangering all the people I was around before I had a clue what was inside me. I'm sorry. And I'm so thankful this virus hit me as gently as it did, and that out of my family, that it hit me. I'm thankful it got me instead of my asthmatic wife, my immuno-compromised step-daughter, or my 60-year-old mother-in-law with COPD. I'm glad the only one that had to stay quarantined by themselves for two weeks was the only introvert among us.
But I wish I'd hidden snacks in this room.
-M