Month: September 2022

That moment when: you find yourself with your shirt over your head.

Be warned, though: it’s probably best not to curse the dead…

“Please leave a note for your host with the reason for your visit…”

I stared at my computer screen, feeling like I had been trapped in a web of lies. I wasn’t about to tell the peoples at AirBnB my real reason for crashing at their little apartment for 2 nights: I had COVID like a mothertrucker.

So I told them something equally true:

“Just need a cute place to crash while house hunting over the next few days…” I typed in furiously, anxious to confirm my reservation and get on with my COVID-cation.

“Wait. What’s all this ‘COVID-cation’ hub-bub all about, anyways?” you might be asking the lightly glowing screen of your favorite electronic device.

As always, I’m glad you asked. Ecstatic, even.

If I may, Dear Procastinating Reader, let me reference you to the 3 previous installments of what I grandiosely call “The Long Tale Of COVID”:

• Just Another Boring COVID Story? Now That’s The Spirit!
• The Tongue-Twisted Guy Who Only Wanted To Get High
• Listen, What Happened Behind That Taco Bell Was Purely Survival

I’ll just chill here while you catch up…

…

…

…

All done? Great! While I know you actually read those fine pieces of prose, I feel I still need to briefly bring the other slackers up to speed on what’s a-happening in this wonderful saga.

In summary, when I got COVID this summer, I promptly ran off to an AirBnB for a few nights with the hope of keeping my fam from catching what I had. In parallel–and what turned out to be a real plot-driver in this story–I wanted to use my 2-4 days of COVID vacation to do two things: write my stupid blog post for the week, and then catch up on library books. And relax and recover, of course.

Unfortunately, the entirety of Day 1 was wasted trying (and ultimately succeeding) to score some liquid fun from the pharmacy that I otherwise wouldn’t be allowed to legally ingest–but you already knew that from the last two posts, right? Including the part where I felt the weight of the White Man’s Burden every time I tried to pronounce the drug’s name, right? Good.

Well, though it’s not the point of this story, I figured I at least owed you a follow-up to that part of this odyssey. And then I can get on with the story…

After I finally had all my pharmaceuticals secured and I made it back to my temporary apartment, it was pushing 8 pm, and I had neither ate anything for dinner at that point, nor taken any of my medications.

All I wanted to do was get some food in me, self-medicate, and pass the ----- out for the next 10-14 hours. But why would life be that simple? Why?

I had two problems: 1) My stomach was queasy, and I suspected taking medicine before food would just make me vomit. Ja…I didn’t really feel like throwing up then nor there. Problemo numero dos: turns out, despite my very clear desire for a place with a full kitchen, when I was looking at the AirBnB listing, I mistook an oversized toaster oven for a microwave oven. Yeah…there was no microwave oven.

And guess what? I had specifically bought almost exclusively microwavable groceries. I was too exhausted to try to boil water, so I ended up just sitting on the couch, merely existing, for another 3 hours. Not even sleeping. It kinda sucked, to be honest.

Eventually around 11 pm, I mustered the will to boil that water and heat that rice-in-a-pouch and some overly stomach-friendly vegetable soup. I wish I could say that was the best meal I ever ate, but, nah, it was pretty horrible. On the bright side, it allowed me to finally go to sleep–even if I never got around to taking some of my hard-earned fun-time meds. The solid sleep, though, was much needed, because I had a big day of real estate hunting ahead of me the next day…

“You’re not gonna believe this–this place is not only 13 acres with a pond, but it actually has a ‘pre-Civil War cabin’! Mom is going to love this place!”

Let’s rewind back to Day 0: that fateful Wednesday my symptoms first appeared and were promptly written off as ‘anything but COVID’. That day found me slaving away in the lab scanning mice in the MRI machine for 9 hours straigt. Scanning days, while tedious, had the wonderful feature of plenty of down time while each mouse was being scanned, and I was using that to hotly pursue a new property that had popped up on my Zillow app.

It had long been a dream, nay, fantasy of my mother’s–who would be living on this property with us–to live out her years in a rustic, 100+ -year-old cabin. The reality, though, is that request is quite a tall order when looking for property (at least within our budget), so I had long ago told her to plan on not having a cabin of her own.

But, yet here it was–an opportunity that seemed to have come down to us miraculously from the heavens…this bad boy:

Okay, so maybe it would need a little TLC, but nonetheless, there was at least a possibility to fulfill my dearest mother’s lifelong wishes. So of course we were going to at least see it. You know, in person.

For the record, before I knew I had COVID, we had set up an appointment with Lonny, our grandpa-esque real estate agent, to see this property Friday afternoon (aka Day 2). And since the main farmhouse on the property was in such bad shape that they didn’t even include interior pictures, we figured we could keep that appointment despite my sickness, on account of being outside 98% of the time we would be there.

So, after spending most of that Friday/Day 2 not blogging nor reading my books, I rendezvoused with Lonny and the Boss Lady at what could be our future forever home: 2310 Wildcat Creek Road.¹And yes, as a Kansas State Alum, I basically jizzed in my pants at the prospect of having ‘Wildcat’ in my eternal address.

When we rolled up (separately, of course), Lonny was already there checking things out, and he was quick to point out that the farmhouse pretty much just needed to be demolished. Not a good sign, I would say.

We checked it out anyways, and yeah, he was pretty much dead-on: the remodeling that would be needed to make that place livable was way beyond what I, handyman extraordinaire, would ever care to do. Still, not a deal-breaker though…

“Welp, let’s go check out that cabin!” I said, my optimism springing ever-eternal.

So we plodded on over where the cabin sat, me eagerly leading the way.

“Watch your step!” I yelled back to the Boss Lady as I spryly navigated the rickety porch on my way to the front door, like I was Little Red Riding Hood or Goldilocks or some shit.

This was immediately followed up by:

“What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuu**?!? Fu**! FU**!”

The exact instant my foot crossed the threshold into the cabin, I felt a searing pain in my back–I could have sworn I had just been stabbed in right between my should blades!

“Aaaagh! Ooooh, that hurts, that hurts so bad!”

It didn’t take long for this Sherlock Holmes here to realize he had been stung by a wasp or a bee, and so, if you would, now visualize me with my shirt over my head like the Great Cornholio,²This is a Beavis and Butthead reference, my friend: https://beavisandbutthead.fandom.com/wiki/Cornholio simultaneously instructing the Boss Lady to “Get it out! Pull out the ----- stinger!” while profusely apologizing to Lonny “So sorry for dropping the f-bomb–I swear I never cuss…around strangers, at least…”

After the dust settled–and after Lonnie pointed out that the dust (i.e. soil)³Truth is, the crappy soil was the actual deal-breaker, not the haunted ----- mansion, believe it or not. would make for the most worthless muck one could imagine when it rained–the Boss Lady got down to the completely rational process of deciding if this was a property we might actually buy:

“So, let’s see…crappy dirt, a farmhouse that would be worth more if it were already torn down…”

“…and that ‘pre-Civil War cabin’…say, you know, there’s something about that phrase…”

“Yeah, it’s been bugging me too…”

“Ah hah! I think I’ve solved the mystery! You know how we always talk about we would like some sort of divine sign whether or not a place is right for us?”

“Of course, otherwise we get lost in our perpetual collective indecisiveness. Go on…”

“I’m pretty sure that cabin was where slaves had lived…and I don’t think they have quite vacated the premises yet.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Well⁴And this is where I take creative liberties with the story……when I got stung, I could swear I heard a voice whispering:”

“Die, Ghost-Face, you pale-ass, enslaving, colonizing mothertrucker! You want a sign? Here’s a sign–to get the ----- outta my house!”

Now There’s a sign for ya…

…a sign that you should drink up, biscuits! Yup, that’s right–there is your first of three usages of the term ‘ghost’!⁵Turns out, ‘GhostFace’ ain’t as racist as I had believed: https://www.quora.com/Is-Ghostface-Killah-from-the-Wutang-Clan-a-racist-name Or as they would say in Pee-Wee’s Playhouse:

Is that the point of this whole story, though? NO! We’re only getting started!

I’ll even give you a little teaser to whet your appetite to keep you hungry for the next seven days:

Should I stay or should I go: how hard could it possibly be to extend my COVID-cation for a few days? I’m sure that will go off without a hitch. Or the need to file a Missing Persons report…

Content created on: 23 September 2022 (Friday)

Oh, to be sick and just trying to get by (or maybe just trying to get high).

Oh, the places you will go, oh the drugs you’ll buy…

“Walmart Pharmacy, Jake speaking! How can I help you today?”

I sighed heavily before taking a deep breath. For some reason I already had a sinking feeling that ‘Jake’ wasn’t going to be the COVID-vacation savior I was looking for.

As you might recall from earlier, I had got me a little case of the COVIDs, and was desperately trying to keep my family safe (and write my stupid weekly blog post, and catch up on some overdue library books) by hiding out in a nearby AirBnB apartment. For all intents and purposes, I really was hoping to have the most boring, uneventful case of COVID known to mankind.

But once my doctor offered to ‘enhance’ my recovery experience by prescribing me some codeine-based cough syrup–heh heh, well don’t you know that I couldn’t pass up on an offer like that!

Of course, there’s always gotta be a proverbial fly-in-the-ointment, and in this case I actually had 2 flies with which to contend: 1) the CVS to which I had the prescription sent was plumb out of the good stuff–as was also the case with all CVSs and Walgreens within a 25-mile radius–and 2) the technical name of the drug I was after was, um, let’s just say “controversial”…

“Yeah, hi Jake–*sniff*–it seems that I caught me some COVID, but my doctor told me there is a magic, top-secret, elixir that will cure all my symptomatic woes. Just one problem…no one seems to have it. Maybe you could be my COVID-cation hero?”

“Sure! What is it you’re after?”

“Well, that’s the thing, I’m not even sure how to properly pronounce it without potentially being racist and/or misogynistic…”

“It’s okay, bro, this is a safe space for white guys like us.”

Of course ‘Jake’ was a white guy.

“Um, so I’m looking for some Codeine-[REDACTED BY THE WOKE POLICE].”¹Actually just go back and read the previous post if you really want to know what we were calling it.

“Oh, sh*t, man! You’re after the party-strength stuff! You gotta be careful with that, though…it can be addictive. And also–little known fact–you can get it without a prescription.”

“So…you’re saying you got some in stock?”

“Oh-ho-ho…no. We’re Walmart, man, we’re not allowed to dabble in those dark arts. But…”

“Yeah?”

I don’t know how, but I could tell Jake was looking nervously over his should right then.

“But I know a guy…Han…he’ll sell it to you over the counter, no questions asked.”

That name sounded familiar…

“Sweet. Where can I find this ‘Han’?”

“He’s over at the 501 Pharmacy…”

Disappointment washed over me. No wonder that name sounded familiar–‘Han’ was my source for Schedule-1 strength elderberry syrup, slanging it out of his ‘Pharmacy’ that was right next door to my doctor’s office.

And I use the term ‘was’, as in I was just paying my doctor a little visit less than 2 hours earlier, and Han and his 501 Pharmacy was not there no mo’–busted by the feds and shut down for good…presumably. Now I had to break the news to Jake.

“No, they went out of business. I was just there, and it’s just an empty building.”

“Oh, no, they didn’t shut down. They just moved a mile down the road. Yeah, yeah…*whispering* they’re behind the Taco Bell now.”

“You don’t say…well, Jake, I gotta admit, you’ve managed to be more helpful than any and all other pharmacist I’ve talked today. Not too shabby for a Walmart employee…”

“Han, my man! I’ve heard from a little bird that you just might have some Codeine-[REDACTED BY THE WOKE POLICE]…”

“Dude, that’s slightly racist…”

Dangit, I should have known I should have stuck with spelling out the name of the drug for Han, who might be of Native descent–or at least Asian. Now I ruined my last chance at scoring some codeine.

After a moment of awkward silence on the line:

“But yeah, I got the good stuff.”

“In stock?”

I could hear him clicking and clacking away at his keyboard.

“Yeah, I got several bottles.”

“Sweet. I just gotta call my doc to send you the prescription, and then I’ll be headed your way.”

“Uh, you know we close at 6:30, right?”

“I know. Don’t worry–I’ll be there.”

“It’s 6:10 now–“

“I SAID I’LL BE THERE!”

“Cool. Just, uh, come around back and text me when you get here then.”

“Damn, you are shady…”

“Nah, that’s just where we had to put our ‘Curbside Delivery’ at this new location…”

“Whaddya mean you ‘got nothin’ with my name on it’?!?”

Han had sent one of his hench-women around back to where I was parked to, instead of delivering me some ----- codeine, deliver me some bad news.

“Um, yeah, we don’t have any prescriptions under your name in our system.”

“Damn my doctor–I called her over 20 minutes ago to send the prescription over!”

“Sorry about that sir…”

“Wait, just a moment–rumor has it that you can get this same stuff over the counter?” My astuteness was about to pay off.

“Yes, but you’ll need to come inside and show your driver’s license and then sign something–“

“No time for details! Let’s get our asses inside and seal the deal!”

I was already out of my vehicle and double-masked, trying to follow them through the backdoor into the store.

“Um, sir, this is the employee’s entrance. You’ll need to go around front.”

“Oh, right. Heh heh…guess I’m just a bit over eager…”

Seconds later, promptly at 6:29 I waltzed through their front door, a fact Han was all to quick to point out with a sarcastic smirk.

“Coming in a whopping 1 minute before we close. Nice.”

I, for one, was in no mood for his attempt at stand-up comedy.

“Just shut up and Han over the item and nobody will get hurt…”

“Oh, you can cancel that order for me…I was able to find the Codeine-[REDACTED BY THE WOKE POLICE] elsewhere.” *eyeroll*

After finally scoring the codeine of my fever-dreams, I had made my way back to the original CVS that was supposed to be filling both prescriptions. But since they didn’t have a drive-thru, I had to go inside in person, COVID chills and shivers and all. Actually, wearing my sunglasses and a hoodie in June–and being quadrupled-masked–made me the one running around looking all shady. I had serious Una-Bomber vibes going on…

But, I digress. While the CVS pharmacist was able to supply me my other prescription–whatever those COVID pills are that ruin your sense of taste–she was trying to reassure me that they had my codeine ordered and would be in within a day or two.

I reiterated to her once again that I had been able to find some, and she could cancel that order.

The funny thing was that she didn’t cancel it, and I was literally haunted by this oversight of hers for the next two weeks. Yes, for 14 solid days I got at least one daily automated call from CVS telling me my ----- order was ready and I needed to come pick it up, and/or that my insurance didn’t cover my prescription starting with ‘CO’.

I’m sorry, CVS, it’s too little, too late. The moment’s passed and you missed your chance.

Plus, now that I know that my boy Han wasn’t shut down by the Po-Po after all, I won’t be needing your sorry ass for any of my future pharmaceutical (and occasionally, ‘recreational’) medication needs…

But wait! Don’t go anywhere just yet, Dear Reader–this story is far from over. In fact, we’re just getting this Spooky Season started.

I mean, sure, I used the term ‘haunted’ once, but that’s not the same as ‘ghost’–and you know that this saga cannot be over until you’ve heard that spooky word at least three times. And I promise you: I’ll make it worth your time if you stick around.

So, until next time, stay well-medicated, my friend…

Content created on: 16/17 September 2022 (Fri/Sat)

Positive COVID test? Check. Apartment all to yourself? Check. A really strong drug prescription? Check!

Let the pharmaceutical phun tymes begin…

“Well, I can write you a prescription for something stronger, say with Codeine in it, or I can give you something tamer, like–“

“Doc, I’ll take the Codeine–I ain’t got no responsibilities and nowhere to be for the next few days, so sign me up for the fun stuff, please!”

As alluded to previously, back in June I had caught myself a case of the cooties–aka COVID–and was just embarking on my COVID-vacation. Despite my very half-hearted “protests,” I had taken the Boss Lady’s advice and was going to quarantine at a nearby AirBnB apartment–all in the name of protecting the rest of my negative-testing family members.

Oh, and also in the name of getting in some uninterrupted blogging–my real goal–and then spending the rest of my time in recovery by reading overdue library books. A simple plan for a simple man, what can I say?

‘Twas Thursday of that fateful week–aka Day Two of Symptoms, and Day One of COVID-cation–and I had kicked things off by checking into my pad, and was in the middle of my Dr.’s appointment when the idea of enhancing my time with a little Codeine first entered the scene.

“Consider it done! Now, just tell me which pharmacy to send it to.”

Dang, the Doc seemed almost too happy to enable my explicit plans of borderline opium abuse…

“This is your local CVS Pharmacy calling. Your prescription ‘CO’ is not covered by your insurance. For more information, please stay on the line to speak to a pharmacist…”

Dangit, Automated CVS Phone Voice, I was just getting settled in and thinking about what to do for my dinner! Now, I have to figure out what in the hell this cryptic message is about…is this about my COVID drug (which I was seriously considering foregoing), or my precious Codeine? Better not be about the Codeine…

*Five minutes of listening to annoying on-hold Muzak later…*

“Oh, high there–er, I mean ‘hi’ there! Yes, it seems that it’s not actually an insurance issue, we just don’t have any of the Codeine-Gwaffle-In-Scene in stock.”

“Mmmkay, well this is super-important that I get some. Could you check to see if you have any Codeine-Gobbling-Incense in an of your nearby pharmacies?”

“Sure…hmmm, shows here that there we don’t have no Codeine-Good-God-I’m-Effin-Insane within a 25-mile radius. Would you like me to check within a 50-mile radius?”

“What? No! Jeez, you realize I have COVID, right? I’m supposed to be relaxing right now, and in fact, I’m starting to get some pretty bad chills. You think I want to be apart of some hour-long Easter-Egg hunt bullshit right now?”

“Oh, well I suppose not…”

“And honestly, I have no idea what you’ve been calling it, ‘Codeine-what?’ I need to know the name if I’m going to have to call up other pharmacies on my own.”

“Codeine-Guilty-As-Sin.”

“Um, could you maybe spell that please?”

In retrospect, I have no idea what my strategy here was, seeing as this whole conversation had been taking place whilst I sat upon my porcelain throne…you know, on account of gastrointestinal issues and what-not.

“Sure. C-O-D–“

“Yeah, yeah, I got the ‘Codeine’ part down–spell the other thing.”

“Okay: SOREFFHBENTBGRNAEFBVOGBIJO.”

*explitive/sigh*

“Sure, okay, I got it,” I said, unable to refrain from letting a copious amount of sarcasm bleed through. “Okay, see you!”

After hanging up, I couldn’t help let out a few more curse words.

“Welp, I’m sure the Google will know what he was going on about…”

“How do you not know what I’m talking about?!?” I basically screamed into the phone at the Walgreen’s pharmacist.

And can you blame me? At this point it was pushing 5:45 in the evening, and sadly there was no codeine on my horizon. Even worse, almost every pharmacy in town that wasn’t a CVS was about to close around 6.

“Um, can you say that again?”

“Codeine–CODEINE! I have a prescription for cough syrup with codeine in it. This ain’t no Over-The-Counter strength that my Doc prescribed me. No, she gave me permission to score some Knock-You-On-Your-Ass-Give-You-LSD-Quality-Dreams-Don’t-Wake-Up-Until-Your-Quarantine-Is-Over strength codeine. How many cough syrups can there be like that?!?”

“Well, we have plenty of cough syrups, sir, if you like–“

“NO. Give me the good stuff. I don’t want any half-assed OTC ‘drugs’ of yours–I’m here to par-tay...”

“…with some of the hottest, most overdue library books in town,” I completed my own statement under my breath.

“What was that, sir?”

“NOTHING. I’m just looking it up on the Google now. Jeez, you call yourself a pharmacist?’

…

“You there, sir?”

“Okay, I think I found it: do you have any Codeine-G-U-A-I-F-E-N-E-S-I-N.”

“Oh! You mean. Codeine-Queafing-Raisin? Yeah, yeah, real good stuff…”

“So you have it?!?”

“Oh, no, we don’t got any of that in stock. Maybe you could try…uh…Walmart?”

“You got to be f***ing kidding me.”

I looked down to see my hands slightly trembling, with what I at first thought was rage, but soon realized that…wait, is it possible–no, it couldn’t be…

Somehow had I managed to be the world’s first person to have a physiological reaction to not having an addictive drug in my system.

OMG…

I was suffering from premature withdrawal.

Hold on, I’m getting a phone call…

*Hey, what’s crackin’? Uh-huh…what’s that?…oh. Ok. I see…yeah…ok. What about ‘preemptive’? Can I use that?…No? Oh well. Thanks for the heads-up.*

Sorry about that…um, it seems that particular medical term is already taken, and if I continue using it, I might just get sued by the good folks over at Coitus Interruptus, Inc...

Honestly, though, I don’t care what we call the malady that was overtaking my system (other than, ya know, COVID)…I just needed to get my drugs on and get on with my evening.

But, seriously, Walmart? I’m basically pinning all of my semi-psychedelic sedative hopes on Sam Walton, that old fart?

Welp, folks, if that’s not drama for you, I don’t know what is! You better tune in next time to find out whether ol’ Sammy-Poo came through for ya boy here, or if I got stuck trying to weather my COVID-cation sober af.

I can’t imagine things getting any worse for my poor, sick soul. I really can’t.

I mean, for crying out loud, this white guy has found himself in the uncomfortable position of randomly calling strangers and begging them for something that kinda sounds like a really poor choice of a name for an Indigenous American child: “Excuse me, my good man, do you happen to have any…uh…Queafing-Raisin“…

Content created on: 9 September 2022 (Friday)

No one wants to have an exciting story about getting COVID.

But if you can live to tell about it, it’s TOTALLY worth it…

“You gotta be f***in’ kidding me…”

It was 4 am on a Thursday morning back in June, and I found myself staring down in disbelief at the positive pregnancy test in my hand…

…

Hah! Just kidding! I wasn’t pregnant, per se–unless you counted all the little baby COVID virus-lets running around my body. And whether or not I found it incredulous that I, snowflake extraordinaire, had finally fallen to the mighty ‘VID, that didn’t change the facts of the matter: I was officially sick with the plague. And I could only imagine that I would indubitably be in for a bumpy ride over the next 3-7 days.

You might even say the situation was “pregnant” with potential for a modest amount of shenanigans. Not only do I have to try to survive my mind and body being ravaged by the cooties, but I had to hope beyond hope that I didn’t get anybody else sick–especially my daughters.

But then the Boss Lady had a brilliant suggestion: “Hey, maybe you should get a hotel room for a few days, or at least as long as the rest of the household is testing negative.”

What’s that, you say? A little “COVID Vacation”–quarantining and doing jack squat for days on end–just for me?!? Well…that changes everything.

One ticket to Boring Town, please…

“I just want to get my blog written, and then spend the rest of my time reading my way through some overdue library books…”

Of course I didn’t say this out loud, but in the back of my mind I was thinking that the key to enjoying my COVID-cation would be by setting my goals super-low. By the time I had gotten around to think about such things, it was only Thursday mid-morning, and seeing as how my self-imposed blog deadline wasn’t until late Saturday night, I was feeling pretty good about my under-achieving plan. I figured that if I had 2 full, quiet days to myself, then that would be more than enough to accomplish that singular item on my To-Do-Before-I-Can-Really-Relax list.

I had already called up my Primary Care Provider and had an appointment for 4:20 that afternoon, and so the only tasks that remained now were to nail down some accommodations for the next few evenings, pack my bags, and then jam out.

Instead of getting a hotel room, I decided that an AirBnB with a full kitchen would be a much option. I’m frickin’ sick–I don’t wanna have to be going out and about to forage for food! (Well, apart from a triple-masked express supply run to the grocery story beforehand for fresh fruits and microwavable meals.)

Pretty quickly I had scouted out the perfect setup: a sweet little one-bedroom in the nearby college town for only $80/night + tax + fees–and most importantly, I’d have the whole place to myself! I didn’t hesitate to nail that bad boy down and booked it for Thursday & Friday nights¹Total for 2 nights: ~$285. Believe it or not, this was one of the best deals to be had. lickety-split!

(It was only later that I learned that it boasted not 1, but 2 beautiful views–one of a brick wall, and the other of a Wendy’s. Surprisingly, those turned out to be rather relaxing vistas.)

The only hiccup I encountered in that process was the fact that AirBnB is overly nosy, and demanded that I “leave a note for your host, let them know what brings you to town!” This is actually required for you to book any place on their website…so I had no choice but to tell them an alternative truth–I can’t be like, “I’m deathly ill and I’m just gonna quarantine and/or possibly die over here at your place,” right? So instead I said I was “in town researching some nearby real estate”–which was technically true (more on that later, though).

It wasn’t long before I had packed up two nights’ worth of clothes and supplies–and my laptop and library books, of course–and I was heading to my new temporary home. A short detour to check out some land just outside of town–I told you I wasn’t lying about the ‘real estate research’–and to get groceries, and I rolled up to my apartment right at 4 pm, aka Check-In Time.

Man, was this plan clicking like a well-oiled machine or what? I had perfectly timed it so I could then back-track to my doctor’s office for my 4:20 appointment. Scoring some suitable meds, followed by a microwave meal back at the pad, and it looked like I was gonna be ready to settle in–and since I was starting to feel like crud at that point–get some much, much needed rest…

“…and then, youngen’s, I took a nap, wrote my weekly blog post in record time, and spent the rest of my COVID-cation reading 3 library books. ‘Twas the closest to heaven I had ever been on earth…”

…said no future version of myself, ever. What? You think I would get off that lucky?

No! This boring story was only a prelude to what I desperately wished was one very boring and uneventful COVID-cation.

Instead, what happened? Oh, well wouldn’t you like to know? I’ll have to leave you hanging for now because, well, it’s a tale that will take a few posts to get through–a tale with four distinct Acts/Parts, in fact.

But since I kinda like you, I’ll throw you a bone and I leave you with these 2 vaguely suggestive tidbits:

Teaser 1: Afterwards, when I was trying process all that had happened, the Boss Lady eventually out of exasperation had to declare, “Jeez, just blog about it and get on with your life already!”

Teaser 2: In this Tale, you will hear the term “ghost” used with not one, not two, but three completely different meanings.²In an earlier in-person retelling, I accidentally used ‘ghost’ a fourth time, so you might get a bonus one thrown in there for free.

What else can I say at this point but “stay tuned…”

Content created on: 2/3 September 2022 (Fri/Sat)