it’s all relative

July 11, 2022

I’m coming up for air after many days avec le dreaded virus, and much like I had hoped, there is some relief in having had it. As with anything we’re afraid of, the reality is rarely as bad as our imaginations would have us believe. I keep thinking about how far we’ve come, and how different my experience must be to people’s who caught it in the early months of a world in panic and lock-down, with no vaccine protection, long quarantines and a barrage of misinformation to wade through. I did throw a pity party for myself on more than one occasion, Jason being my only guest. We’re allowed to cry when we feel like shit. And we’re allowed to throw imaginary darts in the eyes of entitled, arrogant twats who’ve waltzed through the last two years ignoring and defying all sensible and altruistic action, people who’ve brushed it off as a mild headache or a bit of a sniffle. Goody for you. How nice that you’re sitting in a cafe with a mild headache. Now, do me a favour and choke on your croque monsieur. Once I stopped crying, (nothing like a good weep to release snot from your head) and feeling bitter and petty, I thanked my lucky stars.

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