I thought I had a dose of covid that wasn’t so bad. But today I mostly feel like that chicken. My head feels like it’s either falling off, or turned to a bowling ball, and my body is just in a vague sort of pain all the time, like I’m made of something different than I was before, something lower grit, like sandpaper, not like wild west toughness, I’m still tough. 

That last ... sentence speaks to the brain bit, it’s turning slowly to soup. I feel like I can hardly think. It’s just all alphabet noodles making vague watery comments from fifteen minutes in the past. 

I’ll remember things but only after the fact, or half way through them. And soup doesn’t taste as good. Though I suspect it’s the only thing getting me through, thanks Mom, for all the soup. 

It’s 5:21 right now and I think I’m just around the corner from going to bed. That feels right. 

This illness evokes something of childhood in me. I don’t believe I’ve been this sort of feverishly ill since high school or elementary. There’s an element of helplessness highlighted by the sleeplessness. As it turns out having a one month old is not a great time for being very sick. 

Who knew?