Every day at home felt like summer break as a kid. I woke up early, stretched out alone in my comfortable bed, and got excited when I remembered that I had an entire day ahead of me to do whatever I wanted. I planned a big painting and worked on it for 3 days, baked cupcakes and scones and bread for my kids (hygienically), read books with my cat, took hot showers in the middle of the day, and watched shows about people with big hair in historic gowns. It was so great, except for sneezing out all my brain cells. I don't need brain cells to be a painter anyway, I can just be happy and enjoy my life. Some day.
But now the bedding is washed, the bedroom is sanitized, the test came up negative, and it is back to work with my doctor's note, where I get to be snarked at by assholes for wearing a mask for the next 10 days (state policy; at least I don't have to smile at anyone). I have a pile of emails to sort through, programs to plan, articles to write, orders to budget, displays and brochures to make - but with interruptions every 30 seconds because I'm also the front desk person who does all the circulation and phone calls. Bonus: I get to train for my co-worker's job this week, because she's leaving, too. Now I get to do three jobs badly instead of one job well. That is the government for you. Also, I kicked this all off by breaking my nose on the washing machine when the fitted sheet got stuck on the open lid and slammed it down onto my face as I stuffed the bedding into the washer. Appreciating the mask today.
Two more months before my immunity wears off and the story time kids cough me back into covid vacation mode.
(jk, I'll get a booster. I really can't keep getting this thing. Especially not with shingles as a side effect. FINGERS CROSSED.)
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