Monday.

He texts me that he has Covid. Great. I don’t feel good, and he doesn’t feel good, and all I can think of is all of the stuff that is not going to get done now.

I take a few tests to make sure I’m not positive and then keep making breakfast.

Cold by the window.

Our facial expressions.

“Phooooone!” they all exclaim through the open window.

The feeling of feeling incapable of making decisions, even the simplest ones.

No jury duty.

He falls asleep on the drive back home from the game, wakes up just in time to ask for Gott’s as we drive through town. I laugh.

But I need my weighted blanket.