Finally got Covid.
Day 1: Thought I had a cold.
Day 2: Thought I had a mild flu.
Day 3: Thought I had a serious flu. Lungs starting to hurt. Mid-afternoon, wife phoned me at work to say she'd been exposed to Covid. Starting to put two and two together, got a Covid test. Positive. Goddamn. Phoned my boss. He told me I could go home if I wanted, but you could hear the sorrow in his voice. I know damn well there's literally nobody to replace me. One supervisor on a scheduled vacation, another supervisor went home early because his wife is in the hospital in serious condition. That leaves me. So we worked out that I can keep working as long as I stay in my truck and only communicate to the crew through their phones.
Day 4: Very glad it's not a work day. Slept until 0730. Feels like someone is stuffing Mycenean short swords through my windpipe. "Look at me, I'm Paris of Troy!" But I didn't even get to f*ck Helen. I get up, watch a comedy show. Don't find it funny. At all. Wife made herself a quesadilla, took one bite and decided she can't eat, so I get a quesadilla out of the deal. Some people totally lose their appetite when they're sick. Never happened to me.
Come up to my office, log in to CC. You people aren't funny either, but I gotta admit: Saxi's little Wizard of Oz video cheered me up just a little bit.
On Wednesday (which was Day 1, to those that don't feel like counting backwards from 4) I was supposed to go out for dinner with my daughter and her boyfriend. I jammed out because I felt crappy. At the time, I was feeling super guilty, but in retrospect, I'm really glad! They're going on a foreign vacation next week. If I had met with them, might have fucked it up for them totally.