825 days later, it was February again.
I’ve got some shit going on and I probably will get around to writing about it.
I started the month with a sore throat and was running daily Covid tests on myself for about four or five days. All were negative. I guess it was just another respiratory virus, but my immune system overreacted and I had a cough for a couple of weeks. And then I got better.
For Valentine’s Day, I painted another Fresh Direct bag.
I’ve got this one master list on the kitchen counter and I’m working my way through it in no particular order, but there are things on it that take five minutes and other things that won’t be finished in five months. As I work my way through it I remember all the things I’ve left off it, so it isn’t getting any shorter.
People are still getting Covid. People are still dealing with symptoms long afterwards. People are still dying of Covid. No one talks about it anymore. When they cannot avoid talking about the pandemic, they call it the panorama, or the pandemonium, like it mustn’t be invoked by name. But also, it is spoken of only as something in the past. A couple of years ago now.
Almost Every Thursday 
“When they cannot avoid talking about the pandemic, they call it the panorama, or the pandemonium, like it mustn’t be invoked by name. But also, it is spoken of only as something in the past. A couple of years ago now.” — A stranger recently called it the panic, in the past tense. As though the whole thing was one big overreaction.
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It’s an overreaction for the survivors, I guess, but certainly not for anyone with long Covid, or dead from Covid, or anyone who lost a loved one to Covid
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