spruce moose

One of the positives of being a misanthropic hermit is that I rarely get sick*. I don’t often mingle with the masses, so I don’t get a lot of colds or illnesses. In fact, over the last few years, I can trace any bouts of crud that laid me out directly to the last interaction I had with the outside and/or was on an airplane. On the other hand, Ed has been sick with at least two colds since the beginning of the year, and we’re barely a week into February. He spent time on a plane and on a boat and goes outside often, which is just teeming with germs, and therefore contracts untold horrors. Me, I wear Kleenex boxes on my feet and collect jars of urine. I’m totally fine.

I’m not completely immune, though. Last Friday evening I was social outside our normal friend circle. Last Friday night I came down with some sort of crud. I’ve spent the last few days bemoaning my existence, experiencing a myriad of disgusting symptoms that I am sure I could have avoided if I just stayed in the safety of my own filth and not in the company of people with unknown intentions. The unknown, man. It’s the worst.

Ever since I started working 100% remote, I’ve definitely noticed a dramatic decrease in the number of sniffles and maladies I get. This is exponentially increased by the lack of small humans anywhere in my life, vicarious or otherwise. Kids have a lot of germs and are usually sticky. It is a good idea to stay away.

Unfortunately, on the rare occasions I get sick, it’s like all the things I managed to avoid by shunning society descends upon me at once, and every ailment turns into a problematic Man Cold. I’m a huge baby when I don’t feel good, and am usually convinced I’m dying and no one in the history of mankind has every been in this much discomfort and I want mom** to make me feel better. Ed does what he can, but there’s not much to be done with a Man Cold. You just turn up the music to drown out the whining and wait for it to pass.

I appear to be on the mend, which is good. I need to go outside soon, and the last thing I need is to be visible Chinese while sick. I want people to avoid me because I am a bad influence with terrible ideas (a delivery service for sex robots you can order like pizza? I’m formulating the business plan as we speak), not because of racism.

*: until my body decides it’s been a long time since I’ve tasted the wonders of applesauce; then I inevitably end up in the hospital with some kind of medical anomaly.

**: any mom. Probably not mine.

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