WHAT HAPPENED WHEN I GOT COVID 2: ROMULUS & STEEPED IN ISOLATION
Some mildly graphic body horror at the end if that’s what you’re here for
Business Agenda Note (bagels ‘n’ coffee implied):
As my generous benefactors will observe, my paid subscriptions resumed again this past weekend. Summer sabbatical completed, I’m now back kicking & screaming & decidedly the same tea-swilling witch.
Just to recap:
Free subscribers will get occasional public posts (like this one!), as well as some post previews.
Paid subscribers will get full access to all posts (2 to 3 a month, I’m trying to preserve the mental health of the inboxes & the selves), as well as the archives.
I will also begin some random experiments: this month, a giveaway based on audience “participation”!
If you are unable to pay for a subscription, but would like some options? Just write me at aparnamash@gmail.com and we’ll figure something the heck out!
OK THEN!
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Because life makes little to no sense, as soon as I started wearing a mask at the airport again, I got Le Covid (no relation between the two facts of course, but the timing is gorgeous).
Equally poetically, it started the same way it did the last time around. With a scratchy throat and my staunch denial. I kept insisting, “Huh! There’s some old car parts in my gullet, but I can’t seem to get them out. I’ll just keep clearing my register like a professor making a point.” Which I did for an entire afternoon and over the course of a night. I guess the point I was making is “I do not learn, nor have I ever?”
Unfortunately, I was traveling when I finally realized I didn’t merely have a small cold because my bones started to pulse and throb like they were at an electronic music festival. At one point, it felt like my jaw was going to unhook like a snake.
Cowering behind my mask, I did my gourd-fearing best to get myself home as fast as my sniffles could carry me. I felt like the doctor with Ebola who went bowling—wildly out of pocket—a human gutterball.
Once I arrived, I took a test, and voila! This turkey was cooked! I had the newest model of the iPhone virus.
At which point, I called all my exes and let them know—common courtesy. No, but I did tell all the people I’d recently seen. Then I proceeded with the next phase of my plan: sit tight and survive in my contaminated bunker. It was like “Naked and Afraid” but with clothes, so I guess just “Afraid”?
Here’s what I learned:
Within far too short a period of time, I started referring to myself as “baby girl” out loud, as in “Does baby girl need her electrolytes now?” and “Ok, one more takeout for baby girl, but that’s it!” You guessed right: it was never “it.”
Though, with the ordering from food delivery apps, I did pick out items I could make last for 2 to 3 meals. And yes, that does mean eating pita chips, black beans, and balsamic vinaigrette for breakfast. For whatever reason, I did not lose my appetite at all…what is the saying? Starve a fever, feed a cold, GrubDash with Covid? Despite the steady carousel of nourishment…
It took me far too long to realize I’d lost my sense of taste and smell. I ordered soups and pastas and salads (yes, like a frail but visionary starter empress) and it was only a good few days in that I realized, “Wowzie, I know what’s off, I haven’t experienced a single flavor!!!” I was solely operating off of my SENSE MEMORY of what things should taste and smell like. It turns out textures and temperatures are enough for the yum-yum ride. I’m happy to fill in the rest with fond recollections.
I am still waiting for a call back from my primary care doctor’s office. It’s been 14 days now. Joke’s on me!!! They. Want. Me. Dead.
On Day 3 of House Arrest, I answered two work emails and I felt like a starter empress who had annexed too much territory in one sitting and needed to pace herself.
I started whispering at the birds for news from the capital. This was actually two hours in.
I finally completed the 1000-piece puzzle I’ve been cracking away at for months now, like a cold case. For a couple hours there, I became one with the puzzle. Actually, last I checked, I am the puzzle. I’m now gonna leave it out in a very prime location in my home forever like out-of-season holiday decorations. You want me to put it away, even after I tackled all the trees? You’re out of your mind.
Because I wasn’t seeing anyone, I went scary deep into my closet and figured I could wear clothing items I’ve never dared to wear before. Like this one skirt I’ve never been able to figure out if the waistline is at my belly button or if it goes all the way up under my boobs, so I tried it both ways over the course of the day. Covid aside, I have to report that when I tried the high & mighty version, I’ve never looked more unwell.
Occasionally, I’d peek out the blinds and wonder who my neighbors really are.
I anthropomorphized everything, and I mean everything, in my home. I said “Good job!” multiple times to the toilet.
To wrap up, I finally tested negative (“It’s a way of life!” says the pessimist) and have since rejoined the dodgeball game that is the outside world. Have sustained quite a few bops upon my return.
TINY GRATITUDES: YUCK-YUCK VERSION
— when you can’t smell your own diarrhea & you feel like a starter empress finally coming in to her powers
— when you have your coughing fits for however long you please & you can sneeze without fear that if a huge wad of phlegm hypothetically lands all the way across the room, you will not be asked to resign as starter empress
— when the waistband on your underwear is too loose and then you get your period and fluids “do not follow protocol”, but nobody is around to see it, so it doesn’t make a sound (just like your subjects—because you are a starter empress, DAMMIT)