The next day, I received PCR results: negative. Within the next few days, while watching TV on my couch, I had hot flashes, chills, and sweats. My gums and eyeballs were throbbing. 20,000 Lilliputians were attacking me with jackhammers. No part of my body didn’t hurt. I had bouts with bubbleguts and yuckmouth aka cottonmouth no matter how much I used my tongue scraper. My throat felt like I swallowed tablespoons of sand. My period said, “Hold up! I wanna join the Misery Party.” Because of the false negative, I told myself I was being dramatic and it was all in my head, which felt like it was being squeezed and pulled apart. It couldn’t be covid. I wasn’t coughing…yet.
I love staying home WHEN I WANT TO. Being told to makes me want to get dressed and head out. Get in a good workout at the gym. Catch a movie. Stroll through the aisles of Target. Go for a walk in Central Park just ‘cause, which I’ve never done. Ever. With the exception of grocery shopping on Friday, I’ve been home all week, so I consider Saturday as my first official social distancing day.