To those of you–including our commander in chief–who are in a rush to ‘liberate’ your state. Shame on you.
And the young woman with the ‘My body, my choice, Trump 2020’ poster? Darling, that’s not how it works in a pandemic. Simple equation–you choose not to take precautions (wear a mask, social distancing) and you might well come down with coronavirus. At which point you–and your precious body–become a vector, spreading that disease to others.
Chatter about the silver linings of COVID-19–don’t even. I mean, if you are ensconced with your loved ones in a gorgeous home with plenty of food, go ahead and think it. But don’t fucking say it aloud.
For far too many of us, there is no upside to this situation. Nope. It sucks and then sucks some more. If we are lucky, we (and our loved ones) will live through it. But in the meantime, our finances, our morale, our hope–have all taken a hell of a beating.
In four days I head back into Boston for yet another infusion. MGH, the epicenter of an epicenter when it comes to coronavirus. Risking my life while trying to save my life. Nothing fun, shiny, or redeeming about that.
Rather, it is frightening. Bloody hell hard. At times I wonder if it is worth it.
But then my survival instinct kicks back in. The odds have not been in my favor for fifteen years now. Unfavorable plus unfavorable equals less favorable. But familiar. Achingly familiar.