View from the recliner

I'm feeling considerably better today. I only needed one long nap, and perhaps tomorrow I'll test negative and can leave the apartment.

Because I live in housing for old people with low incomes, I have been very conscientious about not taking Covid droplets outside my apartment. I haven't left these two rooms for the past five days. Tomorrow I finish the course of Paxlovid, and while I understand there may be a rebound and it could last five days, if I'm testing negative I feel I can risk leaving the apartment for a short walk with an N95 OSHA-approved 3M mask firmly clamped over my nose and mouth. It could happen.

My friend Patricia is in Yachats, in a pleasant motel with a view of the Pacific from her room. 

Sue is at her house, quiet today. We are so lucky. We've had our vaccines and boosters, we were able to get antivirals, we have secure housing and food, we don't have to go to work and push ourselves to perform. So lucky. 

I am feeling deep sorrow for all those, including my daughter in South Africa, who suffered (and died) with this thing. I think of the overflowing mortuaries of 2020, the ventilators, the isolation, the fear, the loss, the grief. I wish everyone could have had the vaccinations and the anti-virals I've had. I wish the whole world could have had it so easy, and could have it this easy next year, and the next.