After an evening out with a friend on Friday night, I woke early on Saturday and left for a solo 30-hour getaway in WV. Life has not been, shall we say, easy of late, and I was joyful about some quiet time with my animals and land. Halfway there, I started coughing. My chest burned as if its linings had been doused with the shittiest whisky. By 10:20a, I’d texted Tom to say that I felt truly awful and must have caught the cold that felled Jack on Wednesday. Why I didn’t think to test either him or myself is beyond me, but whatever.

The congestion revved up, my skin and teeth started to hurt, and I felt totally enervated.

Was it the two gimlets + wine? I’m no spring chicken anymore, so maybe.

I woke up Sunday not much improved and grudgingly headed home in the early afternoon. On the drive, something kicked in. I called T and he had a test waiting for me.

After all this damn time. Jack tested- positive too, though definitely a good four days ahead of me. He has felt really awful, so his double line was not a surprise result. Masks were donned, I took to the guest room, and here we are. Jack tested negative yesterday so is finally back at school with mask firmly in place. He feels better, but not good.

I still feel like roadkill, y’all. I have zero sense of smell or taste beyond what I can only describe as feeling that I burned my tongue and then licked pennies for several hours; the congestion was EPIC though that has subsided; the cough has been so severe that I have aching stomach muscles (core work! #silverlining) and have coughed up not an insignificant amount of unsightly phlegm curds; my throat is unbelievably sore such that it hurts to swallow; and I just feel tired and vague.

The acute feeling of “I am really effing sick” is gone, but yesterday I took 89 steps. Today, my step counter hasn’t even registered. All this after two initial vaccines and two subsequent boosters. I don’t even want to contemplate getting this in the absence of those mitigating factors.

I’ve done some reading (harder than you might imagine) and some student work and managed to make a large and thrilling-to-me gardening spreadsheet of all the seeds, bare root, and potted seedlings I’ve bought or are on order for spring arrival; full of all relevant info like preferred sun exposure and soil, height, animals repelled and attracted, intended planting location, and so forth, it also enables me to input and track when I started what seeds, when I upgraded their pot sizes, and when I ultimately get them into the ground or container.

So far, my wallflower seeds, both English and Fair Lady, are winning the sprouting race. Slow the train, little buddies. After just eight days I had to move their peat pots into a larger, non-covered pot because they were hitting the plastic cover of my Jiffy tray. The snapdragons and Billy buttons are up too, and I spy the rock cress and creeping thyme making their way. Part of my basement looks like a weed lab, what with pots and grow lights wired up everywhere, but it all brings me great joy, and my family kindly (and with some lovely eye rolls) alerts me when “another package from Eden Brothers arrived.” Listen, they have great seeds.

Anyway, I have showered today but that’s it. Ruthie came for a quick visit, but as per Ruthie, she’s gone again. I’m gonna finish my coffee, send vibes of love and strength to Tyre Nichols’ family while also fully understanding if they can feel nothing but grief and rage over the murder of their boy, send evil thoughts to College Board for bowing to performative GOP pressure and stripping their AP African American history course of, well, African American history, and feel thankful for science and medicine and little peat pots and the always earnest determination of nature and life.