The Bloody Doors Off

The good news is, I don’t have Covid.

I’m pretty sure I don’t have Covid.

Marlo’s tested negative three times now. We’re not going to waste one of our last rapid tests on me, not when we have to think of the boy^TM_.

But I’ve had headaches all week, and the sore throat comes and goes.

Plus, I’m going stir crazy in self-isolation.

I did go out the other day to pick up a package from the post office, and a few groceries from the market. And yes, I took every fucking precaution.

One of the things I picked up was a piece of veggie lasagne from European Delight. They didn’t have any meat ready (it had just gone in the oven) but they had a spinach and ricotta available. Me, loving lasagne almost as much as Garfield, gladly took it home.

I just took a bite.

Nope, can’t do it. Too much spinach. I promised Marlo a bite so she could see if she would enjoy it. I’ve given her the entire piece, and am heating up a TV dinner.

Because our order from Mister GoodMeats never arrived. (They allegedly deliver pre-cooked items you can reheat. I say allegedly because, as I mentioned, it didn’t show up today, and no one has answered our fucking email.).

And a panic attack just kicked in.

—–

Gosh, that was fun.

This week feels like a long series of minor setbacks. Not “throw you to the ground and knock the air from your lungs” moments. Just enough to feel like you ran a 5K marathon in your pyjamas.

—–

The food arrived this morning. Hadn’t heard the door knock. Don’t think it had been sitting outside the apartment long, as the contents were still very cold.

You know what? I’m gonna stop trying to squeeze out this blog post.

We’ll see how I feel later. ‘Cuz right now, it ain’t good.