Just When You Think Things Can’t Get Worse

I love my house. I bought it almost two years ago, and Dave ripped out all the carpets and put down tile floors. We also fenced in the entire back yard, even going into the woods, where there could be snakes. We’ve stained the decks with stain mixed with sparkles, so they…sparkle. I love my dogs, all three of them, for whom the tile floors were necessary, as well as the fenced-in back yard. I love it when I sit in my recliner to watch TV and all three of them jump up and arrange themselves on my lap. I love my two cats, even though they think bringing me their dead squirrels is a good idea, and sometimes they get kneady, which is painful (for me, not for them.)

Much as I love my house, I would like to leave it some times and go somewhere else. Somewhere other than a quick trip to Walmart to pick up a prescription or some food. We have gone a few times lately over to my son and daughter-in-law’s for a family dinner with them and my seven-year-old grandson. I would have liked to go to my daughter’s new place; she just moved from Virginia (three hours away) to here in North Carolina, about an hour away from me and half an hour away from her brother. I would have loved to go up North, like I did last year, for Thanksgiving with my cousins and my sister and all their children. Since we can’t do that, I would have loved to go to my son and daughter-in-law’s and have Thanksgiving with them and my daughter and other grandson.

But I can’t. The pandemic is getting worse, and we’ve been told to Thanksgiving at home. Our health care workers are exhausted, and our hospitals are filling up. The death toll keeps rising, and too many people aren’t wearing masks. Too many people want to do what THEY want to do, rather than what’s best for all of us. How many of those people won’t be here next Thanksgiving? Or will possibly be in the hospital in time for Christmas? That’s a cheerful thought.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I’ve come down with something. It’s not the virus; I know that. It may just be a cold or maybe the flu, although I got the shot, and I haven’t been anywhere to pick up a bug. But I haven’t slept well in three nights, I’m flashing hot and cold, my muscles ache and cramp, and everything INSIDE of me wants to be OUTSIDE of me and doesn’t care what exit it uses. And I know I’m ill when I don’t feel like finishing the dark chocolate I had for a snack as I watched TV tonight with two of the dogs on my lap. (I guess it wasn’t a three dog night.)

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Dave went to bed early tonight because he wasn’t feeling well, and his symptoms resemble mine (although if he’s snoring when I get in there, I will be so jealous.) It’s just some little mystery bug that we’ll probably have for a few days. We’ll get over it, hopefully in time to enjoy our own little private Thanksgiving dinner, just the two of us old people, having turkey slices and green beans and stuffing with jarred gravy. We’ll put on a movie or two or six. And we’ll dream of happier times to come. And if that doesn’t sound pathetic, I don’t know what would. I think I’ll go to bed and see if I can sleep well enough to dream about holidays in the future, when we can reunite with our family and go places and do things. Life will come again. Keep your masks on, people. There’s a monster on the loose out there. Let’s starve it to death.