So I’ve spent six months washing every damn fruit and vegetable to death, haven’t eaten at a restaurant yet, haven’t met most of my friends and those whom I’ve met just recently, it’s been done with adequate social distancing (for the most part).
And it all went up in flames in just one evening. It’s a long, convoluted story of how it may have transpired, and to be honest, I’m quite angry at how it happened, but I’m even more furious at myself that I allowed it to happen to me.
I knew better. I had been warned over and over again by my son that we’d become a bit lax, that we weren’t being safe, that even meeting one other person without knowing where they’ve been meant putting ourselves at risk. But we thought we were maintaining social distancing. We thought people also knew better -that if they had been sick or had any symptoms, they’d not show up at a gathering, even the small, family kind. But we were wrong.
And so here we go again.
I’m once again in quarantine, only this time, to make sure no one else catches the illness from me. Fortunately, my symptoms aren’t too bad and I refuse to allow them to get worse. I plan to recover fully. My motto in life is – mind over matter – if you don’t mind it, it won’t matter!
Damn right, this too shall pass.
I’ve only been cooped up in my room for the past 12 hours. I can’t remember the last time I sat down for even two hours, and today, I’ve been sitting all day and yikes, my butt hurts from all that sitting.
But that’s the hand I’ve been dealt and so I’m going to shut up and deal with it.
Yep, I’ll be spending the next 13 days and 5 hours in my room, alone. And in between watching all the crime shows found on Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime, I’ll going to get back to writing – my next book, this blog, letters to friends, yeah, really, you know the paper and pen type of writing we used to do, lol.