A note from isolation...
I posted this on Twitter this morning…
[Shameless plug here to follow me on Twitter… Like an idiot, I got all huffy and deleted my entire account two years ago amidst the dumpster fire that was the online social discourse of 2020. For some reason, I’ve decided to resurrect it. I have 2 followers now. Help a brother out. At least help me not look like a Russian bot.]
Crazy, right?! I had no idea that one could transmit covid via the dream world. And yes, Joe is certainly a hoot. He and Jill were gracious hosts to Alex and I. He even did a little dance for everyone when he made it down the helicopter ladder after we landed (kind of awkward, but okay, Joe).
So, here we are, President Joe and I, suffering through covid together.
Really, there’s not much suffering on my end of things. Yesterday, I had a wee fever, some soreness and chills, and a slight cough. Today, the fever has disappeared and I’m left with some tiredness and a lingering cough. Isolation feels like I’m getting away with something. Like,
Oh no… You mean I have to sit alone in a room and rest, read, and binge bad television for 5 days? Lord, spare me!
It’s amazing how guilt sneaks in…
Think of all of those people who’ve DIED, Jonas. Imagine how many CHILDREN have lost their parents. How many parents have lost their children? How people have spent their isolation ON A VENTILATOR!! What have you done to deserve this?!
Ugh, the voice of The Accuser is incessant. And to him, I’d say what I always do…
I don’t deserve this. And wait a minute - you’re making me feel guilty for having COVID?!
It isn’t all peaches and cottage cheese over here, though (what, you don’t like peaches and cottage cheese? I smite thee!). I have to miss my daughter’s FIRST EVER play on Saturday (she’s been testing negative, is masking, has been vaxxed, and already had it; don’t worry). And yeah, after only a day or two, I miss the physical embrace of my gals. It pretty well sucks.
But, I will prevail. Meanwhile, I’ve powered through a book that I’ve been sluggishly meandering through for some time: the great Frederick Buechner’s novel, The Final Beast. It’s out of print, but I found a used copy a while back. It’s a great story about a priest who grieves his wife’s death (whilst having to raise two young daughters with the help of an elderly holocaust survivor) and struggles with his faith and vocation. Great story. Dude is such an incredible writer and preacher.
I’m cracking open two new books right now (it’s how I roll - I read books like my dad used to smoke cigs; he’d have three or four lit at various locations around the house and would smoke a little off of each one as he moved around throughout the day).
The first one has been on my to-read list for a very long time and a friend just bought it for me: Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott. I’m going to open it as soon as I click ‘publish’ here. I opened the next one this morning: The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr. I bought it because I’ve been so blocked lately and I need to mainline a serious shot of creative adrenaline. This book is already proving to be the ticket.
So, here I’ll be. Alone in my room with the words of two living marvels. I’ll take any prayers you can offer up for me, but President Joe might need them more.
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