I was just reading an article about how we’re all going to end up with PTSD after Covid, especially if we live in denial about what we’ve been through. So ridiculous. Unless you know someone who has it, or had it, my guess is we will all be dancing in the streets when this is over. Honestly? PTSD? I have a roof over my head. I have food. I have clean water, a pillow I adore, and paper towels. How is that traumatic? I actually laughed out loud when I read that article and switched over to a video about six ways to make your eggs last longer.
Despite the chef/egg expert’s heroic efforts to make an egg last a year, one of the eggs didn’t make it. It turned into a kind of egg Jell-O, and I started crying. It wasn’t the kind of crying anyone could hear. It was the burning-nose kind of crying. The kind that sneaks up on you and makes you feel so sorry for yourself for not knowing you were about to cry, you wish you were crying louder so everyone else could have the chance to feel as sorry for you as you do.
That poor dead egg. It just rotted there on the cutting board.
I ran to the bathroom and watched myself cry. While I was looking in the mirror, I noticed one side of my hair was considerably longer than the other.. I wondered if I chewed it off in my sleep. I have been chewing on things a lot lately. I called my mother to tell her about the situation with my hair. As I was calling, I started thinking about how old she is.
True, she’s perfectly healthy now, but anything could happen. She could get… measles, again.
I made myself a cup of tea to calm myself down, but then I remembered I ran out of eye drops. I could easily go blind before I get up the courage to walk into Rite Aid. Measles probably started in that God forsaken place. What if I contract it and give to my mother? In Florida. I could almost see the measles oozing out of the drugstore door when I drove back and forth in front of it the other day. I wanted to go in, but I was having imaginary leg cramps that morning. Not to mention that I never made it to the frame store before this whole thing started. And who’s going to do all this laundry? Not me! I have a splinter.
I sat down with my tea wondering why I even bothered to make tea. It’s just water.
I was crying again when my husband walked into the room.
“Why are you crying?” he asked.
“Because all of the eggs are dying.”
