Waiting on Test Results

I’m drunk and probably have COVID, so chances are I am not going to my internship tomorrow. 

The test results haven't come in yet, but my throat is sore, and I keep puking and everything aches. Not just when I’m drunk, other times as well. And only one of those times was when I was having a panic attack, so I am almost certain I’m actually ill. Plus, one of my roommates has it. COVID, that is. 

I can hear him coughing from downstairs. 

Last weekend he went to see his folks, by plane if you can believe it, for a weekend trip. Rich bastard. Anyway, his parents had COVID, but then he didn’t have COVID, but then he did.  

Not going to lie, I would very much enjoy punching this man. 

He texted us on Friday in the groupchat,  

“weekly update: I have the rona, but y’all don’t need to quarantine, cuz I’ve stayed six feet away from all of you” 

“im pretty sure that’s not how it works” 

“that IS how it works” 

Turns out, that’s not how it works. 

That night those of us who were not currently presenting symptoms did what any self-respecting group of college students would: ordered pizzas and played board games and got drunk off liquor that tasted like watermelon jolly ranchers. 

And now they need to disinfect all the Cards Against Humanity. Fuck, I feel guilty. 

Or-that could also be withdrawal. Because on top of everything else, now I can’t get my stupid drugs. 

My pharmacy kind of hates me, but I’m used to it by this point. Call it one of the benefits of being a chemically addled trans-man. Usually it's simple to deal with, I go there, wait for an hour or so while they “figure out the situation”, as I call my doctor and actually figure out the situation. And after I confirm the same details twenty different times, they magically find my pills. 

Can’t go to the pharmacy in-person now, for obvious reasons. This means my only option is bombarding them with calls and sending random friends to demand my damn Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors. 

My head is heavy and stuffed, and I don’t know if that’s because I'm sick mentally or physically. 

My stomach revolts. 

I get a call because I reported myself as ill to the school. Mostly so I just don’t get zeros for just doing online classes.

I can go to the Hyatt, they say. If I want to, but they also can’t force me. This seems to be the only thing they can’t force me to do. The man I tell my story to seems unsure of what he should report.

“So, your roommate got you sick? When do you think your last contact was?” 

I tell him we were never specifically closer than six feet for more than 15 minutes. 

“You mean this week?” 

I mean, yes, but probably ever as well. Not the biggest fan of that roommate. 

"So when was the last day you saw him?"

"Today, from like, ten feet away. He was grabbing coffee."

The school doesn't seem to realize you can contract a virus even if you didn't directly huff someone else's air supply. 

I have a friend who is in the Hyatt now. One of his friends got a positive, and he’s an RA, so there was nowhere else to quarantine. It’s not bad, he says. He has two beds and a flatscreen and food delivered every day. The shower doesn’t have warm water, which isn’t fun, but he shrugs, “not like there’s anyone around here to smell me”. Not a bad atmosphere for him to be working on his thesis, if he’s being honest. 

But he’s also trapped in one room for fourteen days straight. No one else, except for school and online. It's been a week, and I don't know how he's still sane. I’m honestly really glad I’m as sick as I am, because if I felt normal, I would be pounding the walls already.

And now I'm just thinking how lovely an allusion that would be, what with my Yellow Wallpaper and all.

It’s my sick roommate’s birthday apparently, and he’s a rich bastard, so several cakes have been sent over. They’re put in the upstairs kitchen and then wait. My 21st is on Wednesday, I’m pretty certain they’ll still be untouched by that point. 

How much can you disinfect a kitchen? Should I be wearing gloves? Should I be eating? 

If this was cholera, I would be lounging in a bed and starving away prettily. As it is, I’m chugging coffee and Diet Coke and sleeping regardless as Netflix keeps informing me of all their new arrivals. 

How do you clean sick out of a weighted blanket? Is it technically a chemical hazard now? Who do I report that to? 

Luckily, tomorrow is Labor Day, so I have another day of recover or whatever before I have classes again. Who knows, maybe we’ll have some stories in the paper about self-absorbed college students whose partying has caused COVID cases to skyrocket. 

Not like our has college forced students to come back from all across the country. Not like these students were then stuck in minuscule dorms with basically no assistance. And it's not like the administration is just waiting for all of us to either disregard the rules or suffer mental breakdowns.

God, my head aches. I wonder if I'll feel better or worse if I take an edible.

Everytime I complain about our statistics, someone is always there saying how much worse it is other places. It's the equivalent of comparing dick sizes, "Oh, you think you're bad with 690 quarantining? Bitch, we have 1200 confirmed cases, come back after you have a real outbreak." Like everything in this life is obviously going to be desolate, and existence is just a contest on how much misery you can acquire.

I miss my person-friend. God, I miss people. I miss not worrying about putting others in danger.

I watched something about the difficulty of creating art during times of misery. Of seeing beauty when the world only shows you darkness. The thing is- I used to to think that art could only be made out of misery. That stupid teenage ideal that only real trauma can move us. I was so worried my life wouldn't be sad enough.

Now I just want to be happy, regardless.