Shut Up & Play The Hits


It’s been a month since I felt the need to post anything here; I apologize in advance for now breaking that silence like a wet fart birthed from betweenst the cheeks of that angry wino that hangs out on the corner of Roosevelt and Bluff. 

In the time since my last post, I have done little to no riding. That should come as no surprise to most long-time readers, but in case you missed the email from the fat cats up at corporate, my relationship with cycling at times feels like the old children’s book, Brody and Crystal Go To Court. You know, the one that features an abusive ex-husband that, despite a restraining order, keeps showing up trying to get laid before stealing Crystal’s wallet at gunpoint and leading police on a multi-vehicle high-speed chase through three counties. OK, probably not like that at all. Let’s just say that my relationship with bikes can be “complicated” at times. See you in court, Crystal!

While riding was at a minimum, my time hiking in the woods with my camera was plentiful, as was my life-long battle with self-loathing, ennui, regret, and shame. As mentioned previously, I see the O.G. Mindbender weekly to help work that shit out, but right now, I’m still good for about two or three days a week that make me question my existence. But hey, you didn’t come here for that; that’s all stuff for my other blog, Shitty Off-Brand Canned Chicken Soup for The Wretched Soul, and my yet to be dropped podcast, Believe Me, I Hate Me More. 

The rest of my autumnal “me” time has been spent dealing with a variety of home issues (hello, unwanted new oven, what’s up dead lawnmower, hey leaky faucet), watching B play the last of his high school soccer matches (first-team all-conference!), taking B’s senior photos (at his request) and dreading the coming holiday season, and all of its travel and misinformed non-expert right-wing white guy dinner table opinions. With that in mind, and being over a year out of the routine, I have been practicing staring down at my dinner plate, not saying anything, contemplating stabbing myself in the throat with a butter knife, wondering, “what the actual fuck?” and glancing at my watch.

A week ago, Wifey and I went out with mid-Michigan power couple, the Brookensesses, in Grand Rapids. Aside from an early evening dinner with my father-in-law and Wifey at a local restaurant back when he visited in July, it marked my first time “out” in over 20 months!! 20!!! I TOLD YOU I KNEW HOW TO SOCIAL DISTANCE! We had a great time, and it felt great to be out doing stuff again. Sadly, my vaxed and boosted ass picked up COVID as a souvenir of our time out. Good times…

I jest about picking up COVID during our time out; it was most likely contracted in the days prior. But as of now, according to the home test kit, I have ‘Rona, and I am in quarantine until I get definitive lab results back in the days to come. But I probably have it, let’s be honest. [EDIT: Confirmed]

On the plus side, Wifey and B are fully vaxed and have tested negative, and the fully vaxed Brookensesses have no signs of the illness. Additionally, my symptoms are comparatively mild, and several days in, I have only had about a 48-hour window where I thought I was dealing with a sneezy head cold. If it wasn’t for the low-grade fever that tagged along with that runny nose and my want to not potentially infect the O.G. Mindbender at an upcoming appointment, I probably would never have even taken the home test. I regret not taking a test sooner, but thankfully I did.

I am not letting myself get too confident, though, because as I sift through the mountains upon mountains of truths, falsehoods, and politically charged outright lies pertaining to COVID, it’s clear that I am not out of the woods for a few more days yet. The internet has also taught me that there is a disturbing percentage of the population that will guzzle horse sperm as an alternative to vaccinations, thus, more than likely becoming COVID-positive people, who can now add bestiality or at very least the purchase, transport, and ingestion of equine ejaculate across international borders to their list of intellectual shortcomings and criminal histories. Additionally, there are some people that are just super into horse sperm.

As I mentioned earlier, as of now, I am quarantining and assume the home test was legit, and the vaccine prevented me from getting anything beyond a low-grade fever, runny nose, and loss of smell. In a perfect world, the lab test will prove me wrong, and I can get back to my normal non-life ASAP, thus saving those government-funded antibodies for another day. I’m also hopeful that I can return that case of Chilean horse semen I bought off the dark web in a fevered haze. 

I wrote all this on Saturday morning, a good five days since my first symptom. I am feeling at about 95% healthy and am waiting on my lab results. However, I am delaying posting this due to the fact I haven’t shared much with my family back in Pennsylvania, and I want to confirm that I do or don’t have the virus before potentially worrying them. I really don’t want them doing any innocent Googling about me in hopes of fresh Holiday-time ridicule only to find out I’m ‘Rona-fied. I also want to make sure I don’t die. Nothing ages a blog post faster than the unexpected death of its author.


Future edits and updates are below. Unless, you know…

Sunday Morning: Confirmed positive result from the lab via email and I remain in quarantine. I have a slight increase in dry cough, but my temperature has remained fine for over 48 hours without medicine and my blood oxygen levels are normal. Fingers crossed that my J&J ghetto jab keeps doing enough!!

Monday Morning: Physically, I feel at about 98% normal except for a lack of smell. My temperature has been 98.6 or below for days now without the aid of NSAIDs, and there is no real coughing to speak of. It was a week ago tonight I felt the first signs of what I thought was a three-day-long head cold. Information is so all over the place about whether I should be happy or scared at this point, I have decided just to stop reading anything.

The past few days have me thinking about the month after we returned from Jamaica back in 2019. I was sick for about two months with a relentless chest cold that, at times, had me thinking I was going to die. That is what I fully expected from COVID (and may or may not still receive). I can only assume at this point that being vaccinated and boosted has helped a ton because the worst symptom I’ve had so far was a night of chills followed by waking up in a pool of meat sweat. OK, there was no meat, but there was sweat. Most of the issue right now is mental, just not wanting to get too cocky about recovery.

Tuesday Morning: Other than a lack of smell, I woke up Tuesday feeling as close to 100% as possible. Right now, I am just bored and anxious to be cleared to re-enter society on Thursday. I do plan to go outside for a walk in the woods alone later today. Of course, I planned that yesterday and somehow ended up doing nothing.

Wednesday Morning: The lack of smell continues to elude me, but I am otherwise fine. Today is my last day in quarantine, and I am more than a little anxious to return to whatever it is I call normal. I am also eager to smell my own farts again.

Thursday Morning: I still have no smell, but feeling fine. As of today, I am out of quarantine (yay?) but still plan on laying pretty low and limiting my time outside to a couple of errands and maybe a solo hike. I did have some projectile diarrhea this morning, but not sure if that is from the remains of the COVID or just my 50-year-old gut; who knows.

Friday Morning: Yesterday, I was reintroduced to society like a blind elephant being unleashed on the Serengeti after years of zoo-sponsored foster care. Only with way less enthusiasm from all parties and way less chance of being immediately ripped apart by a pack of hyenas and left to die.

At one point on Thursday, I had hints of my smell returning, but that seems like wishful thinking as of Friday morning. Besides a lack of smell and being a bit tired and sore from a lack of physical activity (know what I mean?), I feel fine, and I’m ready to start living life 3-6-5 again. Who knows, I may even begin to Live, Laugh, Love. As someone who has never lived 3-6-5 nor Lived, Laughed, or Loved, it pained me to write that last bit.

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