No luck, friend.
My “diet” is frozen meals and box meals and, if I’m real lucky and I saved up and Eris loves me extra that day, maybe Taco Bell. I’m poorer than “diet” can accommodate; I eat what I get.
My health in every other respect is abysmal: I’m a smoker, I’ve been homeless a decade off and on, I haven’t seen a doctor who took me seriously once my entire life, and I can’t exercise meaningfully due to chronic fatigue, depression, and a host of undiagnosed digestive fun that combines with my non-diet to leave me alternating perpetually between food coma and hypoglycemia. If I caught a mild case of COVID, I’d probably die instantly.
But your unlucky day doesn’t end there: I have managed to momentarily unclog my sinuses multiple times throughout this ordeal and my taste and smell are unchanged entirely so long as there isn’t a solid wall of ooze sludging my head up like a fatberg in London.
And, finally, today, I seem to be starting to recover. In particular, I have had my sense of smell and taste in full since late last night and I still have it this morning, because my sinuses, while still flowing like the blood of my enemies, are no longer stuffed wall-to-wall with malevolent slime monsters.
I don’t have a breakthrough case of COVID, I have a really vile head cold. Worst one I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some doozies, but it’s not in line with COVID — the phlegm and sinus clogging are by far the largest symptoms.
In fact, they’re the largest symptoms to the point where if it weren’t for the fever and the fact I caught it from others, I’d be forced to assume it was a brand new magical allergy, presumably to the infinite mold that endless late June rain brings to Chicagoland. The concrete is growing fuzz, I shit you not. The fire pit has turned green, and there’s no copper in its construction. It’s a Resident Evil 7 nightmare.
