day 11, but who's counting

Me.

I'm counting.

And, no, I am most def not happy about it.

This makes five days that I've sent rough swabs up into each nostril, rubbing until my eyes water.

Not that I've done that five days in a row.

I don't think I could have stood that.

But I swabbed a week ago Monday, doing the process correctly, but not collecting enough sample, so that was a false negative.

Damn.

Then, on Wednesday of last week, I tried again.

That's the topmost test in this quartet of positives.

The next test was on Friday, and it was positive.

Then, on Sunday, I used the last of the home tests that I had, hoping it would say my bout with COVID was done.

No, that test again showed I was still positive, though the lines were fainter.

Yesterday's mail brought in four more home tests.

This morning I used the first of them... and thought at first that I was negative, even tooting the news to Christina and to my ex.

Only later, when I turned the light on, did I realize there was still a faint purple line under the 'T' marker.

Damn.

Damnity damn DAMN!

I feel fine, I really do.

No fever, no cough, no shortness of breath, no headache, no sneezing, no anything.

Yet, the test insists that I still have the coronavirus active in my body.

That means I could spread it someone else if I don't wear a mask.

That means I should stay home and keep self-isolating.

That means I certainly cannot sit across from anyone and share a meal.

I know Christina had hoped we could have lunch today.

So did I.

I know my first niece is still hopeful of having lunch together tomorrow.

Me, too.

Tomorrow's test result needs to be negative.