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.
There should be a warning before reading profiles. Warning: scrolling through these profiles may induce eye-rolling and headshaking. There should also be a warning to manage expectations when going through photo galleries.
I’m ready to get back into the dating game. I purposely called it a game because that’s exactly what it feels like. I’ve been on and off dating apps since my twenties. These men claim they want relationships, but their behavior says otherwise. I don’t want to go back to an app, but there’s no other way for me to put myself out there. Even when we were allowed to roam about freely, I had to resort to apps. I was not meeting The One at the grocery store, subway, bookstore, movies, concerts, book signings, plays, comedy shows, Brooklyn Bridge, doctor/dentist office, work, Greyhound, Amtrak, Lyft share, JFK airport or other places.
‘Tis the season for chocolates, teddy bears and red hearts everywhere. Sometimes it takes the sale of decorations to remind me that a certain holiday is pending. Storefronts have been swathed in reds and pinks for weeks, but I’ve hardly noticed. I won’t be giving nor receiving a V-Day gift to that special someone because, well, there isn’t one. Yet. I do worry that I’ve been uncoupled for so long that I will have trouble adjusting when I am part […]