Sick Man’s Log 22-211

It’s been approximately 32 hours since my diagnosis with Covid-22. The virus has taken hold tighter than expected.

The first thing to go was my voice. I typically speak with the alluring essence of a siren sitting beneath a champagne waterfall holding a rack of perfectly cooked, fall off the bone, ribs, but that magic has faded. My voice is now more comparable to a 60 year chain-smoker, that casually gargles a mixture of Jack Daniels, gravel, and glass every morning. I’m raspy, yet deep, like your mom.

I’m also extremely tired. The lethargy has set in. Although, I can’t be sure if that the coronavirus or the shots of NyQuil and Tito’s I’ve been downing to fight my sore throat. I’m not a scientist, but I’m sure my experience will incomprehensible to even the most brilliant of minds.

I have a guardian Angel that’s been leaving vitamins at my front door. It’s quite possibly that these trinkets are just hallucinations conjured by my fevered brain, but imagination gummies that were sitting in the bag on the porch are absolutely delicious. I’ve named them Multi and Zinc, and they are my only company. Now I know how Woody felt when he was all along on that island after his boat was stolen by that guy that said he was “the captain now.” I have a friend in me—yummy gummies.

I’m glad I still have my wits about me. This disease can take my freedom, but it’ll never take MY FREEDOM. Mad Max taught me that when he developed the ability to hear women’s thoughts.

All in all, I think this will be an interesting situation. My cough creates throat gummies. They are a bit softer than the vitamins, and a lot saltier, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Zzz

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