Self-Isolation Diary: Day 2
Wake up feeling sorry for myself. Give myself a pep talk:
‘Come on, pipsqueak - it’s ONLY day two. Save the misery for another time.’
Tell my pep talk to fuck off. It was shit anyway.
Continue feeling pathetic, in a manner that my teenage, Smiths-loving self would be proud of.
Haven’t had PCR results yet though. Currently clinging onto the slim chance they could be negative.
Although still can’t smell ANYTHING. Which is weird when you live with small kids.
Not being able to smell in our house is like not being able to hear in a disco. Honestly, the stench of our gaff is at least 80% of it’s personality.
And yes, I said disco. (Come on, I’m 43. What do you want me to say? ‘In da cluuuub?’)
Drag myself out of bed. Turn my phone on. It goes batshit mental, pinging with texts and emails.
All from Test & Trace.
Prob just checking up on me, right?
Naah. It’s confirmed. I have the bastard ‘Rona.
Sweet silver arseholes.
Fuck it. Time for biscuits. Loads of biscuits. I hastily declare today ‘Biscuit Day’.
Creep downstairs with a mask on.
Can’t find the biscuits. Go back to bed feeling royally shat on. Does nobody know it’s Biscuit Day?
Find the biscuits down the side of the bed. Must have left them there during the last ‘Biscuit Day.’ (They’re more regular than you think.)
Stick one in my mouth. Can’t taste it.
Oh FFS.
So now I can’t smell OR taste. Fan-bloody-tastic.
Someone tells me that spicy foods and coffee can re-trigger your taste buds. Briefly consider making myself a Vindaloo Latte.
Also feel quite tired. But is that Covid? Or just life? I’ve been knackered since 1997.
Back tomorrow…
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