Not Covid…

I got a negative result back. Good I suppose. For all my being dramatic about it, the whole thing is almost anticlimactic. I still feel like shit, just not Covid shit. It also still means that my Covid precautions aren’t working, so should Covid actually come along, then I’ll get it for sure. I don’t know how that would go if I got it while I still have this cold. Not well I suspect.

Ever since I started falling ill, the flashbacks started. It’s almost a year to the day when MyLady caught the bug that landed her in ICU. All my symptoms match My Lady’s, only I’m fighting it off it seems. For a while though I was a little scared. Followed by ‘F**k it, that’s about right for my year… Bring it on.’

I’m sat on the sofa tucked up under the fluffy purple blanket I got My Lady for Christmas last year and bemoaning the lack of Cherry Coke and chocolate. Randomly sniffing and coughing. Living my best life. I’m sick of feeling like this, so I’m having another nap. I haven’t got up from the last one. I don’t even care. I’d rather sleep than mong around, feeling like shit and overthinking my life.

After a four hour nap, I’m still sat under my My Lady’s blanket. Guess I should get up but I STILL can’t be arsed. I steel myself and get up. Mr C needs walking and I’m slipping into that crippling depression again. I can feel it building. This is very much not the time to fall apart, if ever there was one.

I quickly realise as I get ready for the walk that I haven’t gone on a proper walk for quite a while. Another bad indicator of my mental state. So Mr C and I take the scenic route and with a brisk pace too.

Once we get home, I crack on with yet more housework that has fallen by the wayside… Again.

I spoke to my dear friend and newly adopted sister this evening. Her mother had her cancer operation this morning. All went as well as it could have and we await the post op report. I am hoping so much that she will get the all clear, as much for my newly adopted sister as for her Mum. The whole thing is triggering her so bad. The last time someone she loved went into hospital, they didn’t come out.

I spoke to Work Husband today too. He has built an amazing retro arcade machine. Maybe one day I’ll even be able to try it out. Assuming we don’t have a full on apocalyptic societal breakdown in the meantime. Wouldn’t it be crazy if Mad Max turned out to be a true story? As mentioned previously, My Lady and I trained for years for that shit.

My Princeling and I watched TV for a while which was nice. We spend more time together these days. Once we’re done, he goes upstairs to chill and I spend most of the remaining evening on Zoom with my friends. Robb and JMac pop up on Facebook live for a subs club stream. They played most of my favourite songs too. Noice.

When the show was over we continue on Zoom. We only muted our microphones anyway. Before long though I’m exhausted, bid my friends good night and go to bed.

Sat here in bed now. No Cherry Coke, no brown MnM’s to comfort me. Ugh… I’m going to sleep… If I can. I still lie there every night in that huge empty bed, missing My Lady pulling me in tight to cuddle to sleep. That’s something that hasn’t changed since the day My Lady was admitted to hospital. I despise it… Every… Single… Night…