I'm out of photos. I just am. All I can do now is dig into the wayback and try to find something. This is from a trip to Cali a few months before everything stopped. But there is good news. Covid cases have dropped like a rock in an empty well. I was fortunate enough to be one of its last victims. I will work on a poster today with me as poster boy for "The Shittiest Retirement."
I woke this morning with a strange realization. I forgot to change my quilted bed covering on the first day of autumn. It is a bi-annual ritual. I have a green one for spring and a red one for autumn. They are not actually "green" and "red." That's the way boys talk. Boys don't have the color vocabulary of girls. I haven't the words for their actual colors. They are more subtle and richer by turns. But the realization saddened me. I will switch them today.
I've marked my last relationship by the changing of the duvets.
I've measured "The Shittiest Retirement" by the same.
If I were smart, I'd change the whole bedroom scheme. But I'm not smart. I'm maudlin.
Today begins Week II of Covid. I felt better yesterday, well enough to try a tiny bit of exercise. And then, as it was early and no one was around, I took a brief walk. Before that, however, I had stripped the bed and put the sheets and pillowcases in the washer. When I got home from my walk, I put the sheets in the dryer and took off my clothes. I threw them in with a load of Covid clothes that went into the washer. Then I lay down naked on my naked bed and fell dead asleep.
When I woke, I took my first shower since getting sick. You know how that goes. It feels weird. The grime has settled in and feels like a protective shield. Once clean, you feel a bit more vulnerable. I shaved and dressed and, out of necessity and duty, I got the sheets to clothe the bed. This is not "my thing." I cannot make a bed worth a damn. I never learned. It is a monumental failing, I know, a lifetime embarrassment. My mother made my bed as a kid. I never made my bed in college, just pulled everything up and fluffed the pillows. I still do. And now (big confession), the maids change the sheets.
Soooo. . . . how in the fuck do the fitted sheets go on?!?!?! I have a King Size bed which means it is almost a square. Why aren't the corners of the fitted sheets labeled somehow? "Right top" or "bottom left" or something. I bought expensive sheets with a high thread count (which I've recently read is a waste of money), but they seem too tight. Perhaps I've done that in the dryer. I have a variety of pillows, several that are King Size. How do you get the cases on them gracefully? I tuck the end of the pillow under my chin, but my arms are too short to reach the bottom of the pillow (and I have long arms). By the time I had gotten the top sheet on over the very warped fitted sheet and had put the heavy quilted bed cover on top of that several times (nearly square), I was once again covered in sweat.
I sat down on the couch. I was tired. I was weak. I was done for the day.
Covid ain't done with me yet.
Last night I watched the final two episodes of "Sex Education." That was my Covid show. Perhaps having finished that series, I will get well. Today I will do two sets of exercises and a bit longer walk. I am in the very low viral load phase of my disease now.
The days have been almost autumnal here with crystal sunlight and long shadows. I have missed them. I am opening all the shutters to the world today, though. I have been a cave dweller long enough. I will try to run the vacuum today. I want to feel life's return.