Yesterday . . .
I went back to sleep after feeding Calliope and woke to the sound of her puking. Then puking again. And as I stumbled around in the dark, trying to find it, I muttered, "Where is the---Fuck!" I found it with my bare feet. And that made me retch. And as I ran to the bathroom, I realized the sickness was no longer mere disgust. It was horror. Sick of all of this. At the thought of what's to come. I am usually afraid of vomiting, but this time I just tried to rid it all, all the ugliness of it.
It didn't work.
So I got up and vacuumed every bit of my apartment, of course. Because that's the obvious reaction to the aforementioned situation. Clean, clean everything. Control every speck and corner of my limited space. I think I spent a minute per square foot of the place, slowly moving the head of the vacuum back and forth.
Usually I like cleaning about as much as I like vomiting. This pandemic has very strange side effects.
It was a big, social day. Lynne and I met in a park nearby. We sat far apart, me on a picnic table and her on a park bench many feet away. Lynne brought me beautiful, tasty homemade bread. Jennifer and I met in the same park. She brought me a sandwich. I read up on food and decided that after I heated things up, it was fine to eat. Jennifer and I even took a socially distant walk in which we wandered on opposite sides of the street.
We sat across from each other, many feet apart, and chatted. The park was green and pretty. Saying hello and goodbye felt weird, but most of the rest of the visit was just fine. Except for the bizarre topic of conversation. My new parlor. I hope to see many more of my people here in my new parlor.
I went back to sleep after feeding Calliope and woke to the sound of her puking. Then puking again. And as I stumbled around in the dark, trying to find it, I muttered, "Where is the---Fuck!" I found it with my bare feet. And that made me retch. And as I ran to the bathroom, I realized the sickness was no longer mere disgust. It was horror. Sick of all of this. At the thought of what's to come. I am usually afraid of vomiting, but this time I just tried to rid it all, all the ugliness of it.
It didn't work.
So I got up and vacuumed every bit of my apartment, of course. Because that's the obvious reaction to the aforementioned situation. Clean, clean everything. Control every speck and corner of my limited space. I think I spent a minute per square foot of the place, slowly moving the head of the vacuum back and forth.
Usually I like cleaning about as much as I like vomiting. This pandemic has very strange side effects.
It was a big, social day. Lynne and I met in a park nearby. We sat far apart, me on a picnic table and her on a park bench many feet away. Lynne brought me beautiful, tasty homemade bread. Jennifer and I met in the same park. She brought me a sandwich. I read up on food and decided that after I heated things up, it was fine to eat. Jennifer and I even took a socially distant walk in which we wandered on opposite sides of the street.
We sat across from each other, many feet apart, and chatted. The park was green and pretty. Saying hello and goodbye felt weird, but most of the rest of the visit was just fine. Except for the bizarre topic of conversation. My new parlor. I hope to see many more of my people here in my new parlor.
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