What a Long, Strange Year It’s Been

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It was one year ago today that I was sick as a dog. Sick to my stomach. I thought I had stomach flu. When it didn’t go away after a couple of days I went to the emergency room. The next day the hospital called me and informed me that I had tested positive for covid. I thought I was going to die. NOT because I was that sick, but because the media had been saying non-stop for 293 days that covid = death. I was quarantined for ten days, finally liberated on the day after New Year’s. By then I was feeling fine. The local health department sent me a “care package” that included an oxygen pulsometer, a fidget spinner, and lots of candy. As I mentioned last year, if they sent the Reese’s Cups to test whether my taste sense had returned they picked a fine testing mechanism (and the answer was yes ). So, here I am, a year later. All vaccinated, waiting for the six-month timeframe after the second shot to get bolstered, and hearing the same crap over the past 365 days that I heard for those first 293. I’m sick of covid. I’m sick of people thinking it’s a joke and dying from it because they’re too bull-headed to take precautions. I’m sick of people making fun of the people who were too bull-headed and died. (Do these people laugh at people dying from lung cancer or cirrhosis of the liver from poor choices?) Mostly, I’m sick of a little virus being turned into a political tool and a dividing rod for this already irreparably divided nation of ours. Oh, well, just the ramblings of a hillbilly listening to the biggest country hits of 1952 (the year my parents got married) on a Sunday night. I’m thankful I’m not facing tonight what I was facing a year ago. I pray all of you stay well, too. Have a great evening, everyone. A Christmas wish: