Stir Crazy

Covid, 4th Time.

Even the first time wasn’t horrible. But the symptoms always seem to be the same.

My left shoulder becoming the type of stiff that limits arm movement, threatening with the thought that I should pull out the pliers and yank out my molars, and making me WebMD if collar-bone cancer is a thing.

Did I deep-throat a baseball bat covered in some coarse-grit sandpaper? Seems so.

What can only be described as The GlobGloGabGalab, living in the back of my sinus cavity.

Respiratory distress that is never life-threatening, but keep the albuterol close, me hearties!

And the fatigue! When you sleep too much, and the dreams become vivid. Did I really join forces with the cat who hangs around my house as we ventured to a distant land to seek benevolent council from Craig, King of The Geckos (whose realm is apparently the driveway of the house I grew up in)? Nah. Just another dream. Now here, choke down some water with another 400mg of ibuprofin, and get back to bed, you trollop.

(But go easy on the foot, which you sprained, again.)

[You have permission, dear reader, to close your eyes and envision braless me hobbling along to the kitchen, only to quickly retreat to the bed and flop myself down again. I didn’t invent Rule 34; it’s gotta work for some of you out there.]

Feeling better now, and no-longer communicable. So, I ventured down to my local tienda. Bought lots of Arizona ice tea. Too much chocolate. Reviving my quesadilla kick. It’s a pretty well stocked place. Veggies are pretty limited. But if you ever need taterz (dos tipos!), some garlic, 2 red onions, a tomato, and exactly one green habanero… I know just the place.

Pardon me, now… I’m just sitting at the desk for the first time in days, and Microsoft is being a dick about some update. At least there’s coffee.

More at ya soon, lovelies. 😘