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A Kick in the Balls



The day started off on a high note. The espresso machine is invigorating. Temps didn't reach 100 before noon. The dog didn't eat breakfast, but he seems feisty enough. And, I was celebrating writing 3,336 words last night.  

Then my son tested positive for COVID. Again.

His dentist's office routinely checks all their patients before seeing them. Ian is anti-covid vaccinations. Even after going through it once.

I've tried to convince him to get a vaccination for my benefit. I'm an old fart. I'm high risk. If he gives me COVID and I die,  he'll feel guilty.

There is a strong possibility he has no concept of the meaning of guilt. Which could be a good thing. It could mean he's never done anything bad enough—that I know about—to feel guilty. As his mother, I refuse to contemplate the alternative meaning of a guilt free mind.

To test positive today, he was probably a carrier last week. I have seen him briefly during doggie drop offs and pickups the last few weeks, but we haven't spent as much time together as usual due to conflicting schedules. I don't recall the last time I hugged him. But, I am pretty sure it's been longer than two weeks.

Still, I've probably been exposed, and probably should quarantine myself. SDSBs. 

He may have given King Midas Covid. That might explain his lethargy, and lack of appetite. Dogs can get it and carry it. Ian will be masking up to take His Majesty to the vet today. I didn't even volunteer to be his proxy.

Uncle confiscated his van this morning. He actually called and asked if he could borrow his own van. Silly man.

Of course not. It's mine now, I tell you.

No I did not say that.

I said, "Of course. It is your van after all."

Deep down I was thinking, MINE.

Bless him for loaning it to me all this time in the first place.

I can drive my own car, as long as it is not raining. I'm still on a list at three different shops, waiting for anyone to get the parts to fix my sunroof. The air-conditioning has been broken for years. Can't afford to fix it. So, I prefer not to drive my own car when the sun is threatening to melt the entire state of Oklahoma. Every. Fracking. Day.

If I absolutely need to go somewhere before Uncle returns, I can always drive his shiny, new truck he left parked in front of my house. I've got a step ladder in the kitchen. 

 

 

 

 

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