My father used to say this to me when I was a kid (clearly to blame for the origins of my insipid outlook) and this musing was the first thing I thought about last week when opening up the results of my COVID-19 antibody test:
INCONCLUSIVE.
Apparently one of the test plates showed a positive result, whereas the other came out negative. As if the uncertainty wasn't annoying enough, now my flatmate is trying to imply that my three and a half week stint of anosmia and ageusia was psychogenic. This is the same girl who randomly leaves her lipstick, hairbrush, and receipts for her lubricant and vibrator purchases in the same kitchen cabinet containing all our cereals and biscuits. But I'm the one who's nuts.
To be fair, she might be right about me having lost it. I have been having disturbing and crazy dreams lately. In the span of a week I dreamt first that I showed up at the hospital dripping with amniotic fluid and about to explode with a 40 week baked bebé. All the beds and staff were occupied dealing with COVID-19 drama, so I sat on the floor of the emergency department lobby and delivered that thing myself, cutting the cord with my fuggin teeth no less. There was of course no father in sight. Then just a couple nights ago I dreamt I was at my own wedding and very happily said "I do" to myself; once again no man in sight because apparently in the eyes of my subconscious I am a strong and independent woman capable of immaculate conception out of conventional wedlock. Bastard.
In the meanwhile I have repeated the antibody blood test. There seems to be little else to do anyway than sit around in my joggers finger pricking myself over and over again. Having no social life and no manic family to homeschool and control means a lot of free time for thinking. In this vein it's actually been a period of intense contemplation considering as well what is important and what I want. I have gone back and forth being down on myself for being the insurgent against social first world convention- 35 and unattached, still a renter and no assets. But in a moment I am reminded that for what I lack in family happiness and stock options I gain in freedom and cock options. And everything feels ok again. Especially when Warren Buffett loses fifty bajillion dollars in the same period that I GAINED another tenner in my bank account.
I'm about to lose my shit because last night I spilled a full margarita onto my macbook and now the keys are sticking. What do I do? As if I wasn't already deep enough down the rabbit hole of my own thoughts, now the entire top line of my keyboard Q to P is grating at my will to carry on. Gonna take a quick break. brb.
Ok. I'm back.
I have just returned to my computer after an hour of stress relieving activity trimming all my split ends with a nail clipper.
Does anyone else think it's weird when someone asks you these days "what are you up to this weekend?" Like, is that some kind of sinister joke? Makes me angry and defensive like you KNOW perfectly well I'm going to be working on expanding my collection of adipocytes and repeatedly hitting refresh on my computer checking for news coverage that this is all over. What are YOU up to this weekend?
I keep hearing these sweet little slogans that we are all in this together. We ARE all in this together, and that also means getting fatter together. It's just not fair if any of you are out there using this time to get in shape while the rest of us become more and more shapeless. Things for me are bulging in places they never have before but I'm too terrified to step on the scale to confront the damage. Not only have I been moving less but I've been pac manning my way through each day. Even my targeted instagram ads this morning was for a meal delivery company called "Fat Girl Getting Fit."
(A quick digression just to point out that this company's marketing team really needs a new manager because that plate looks fucking disgusting. Obviously you're going to lose weight if your meal consists of a pile of parsley, a lime wedge, and a sprinkle of cat testicle.)
Other than gorging on carbs, as a mechanism of boosting dopamine I have also been shopping online. So far I have bought a salad spinner, a 50-pack of 8-hour burning tea lights, and two very tiny whisks. It was fun to open the boxes but then I realized I'm really not sure why I did all of that.
Be careful of those coronavirus scams people. Its really upsetting that anyone could engage in profiteering in any capacity from a pandemic, whether that be charging thousands for a milliliter of convalescent COVID-19 plasma or phishing online. In general, if you get any emails that have the word "Greetings" in the subject line, you know the sender is full of shit. Nobody says that. Also, emails that include emoticons should be deleted (and so should your boyfriend if he uses them more often than prose).
By far the best thing that has happened to my social life in the last month was a couple weeks ago when there was an unexpected knock at my door on a weekday afternoon. I opened it up to find a very attractive police officer. It was the first person other than my flatmate and the grocer I've interacted with since the 12th of March. My first reaction was to scan my memory of every illegal thing I'd ever done. My second reaction - influenced both by how attractive he was and having just watched the first episode of "Toy Boy" on Netflix, made me believe he could have been a stripper. He showed me his badge and I nodded like "yea, you and I both know thats fake". But then he asked for Anna, my flatmate. Someone had tried to steal her moped and she'd filed a report without leaving her phone number, so they sent the sexiest cop in London to sort it out in person. I called Anna with him standing in front of me to make sure this wasn't some weird coronavirus scam:
"Wait, there's a cop at our house right now?"
"Yes."
"Is he cute?"
"Yes he's cute." (cop blushes, breaking character)
"Give him whatever details he wants."
"I'll give him my details too, just in case."
The investigation is still inconclusive.
By far the best thing that has happened to my social life in the last month was a couple weeks ago when there was an unexpected knock at my door on a weekday afternoon. I opened it up to find a very attractive police officer. It was the first person other than my flatmate and the grocer I've interacted with since the 12th of March. My first reaction was to scan my memory of every illegal thing I'd ever done. My second reaction - influenced both by how attractive he was and having just watched the first episode of "Toy Boy" on Netflix, made me believe he could have been a stripper. He showed me his badge and I nodded like "yea, you and I both know thats fake". But then he asked for Anna, my flatmate. Someone had tried to steal her moped and she'd filed a report without leaving her phone number, so they sent the sexiest cop in London to sort it out in person. I called Anna with him standing in front of me to make sure this wasn't some weird coronavirus scam:
"Wait, there's a cop at our house right now?"
"Yes."
"Is he cute?"
"Yes he's cute." (cop blushes, breaking character)
"Give him whatever details he wants."
"I'll give him my details too, just in case."
The investigation is still inconclusive.
1 comment:
Too bad you cannot sell your useless convalescent plasma.
Love you anyway!
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