My hubby and I managed to get through two years without catching Covid-19. Until now. He’s fine, but somewhere in the last couple of days, my luck ran out. Let me just interject here, I’m fine. Feels like a cold, a low grade fever. Thank Goodness, nothing serious. Obviously, I’m quarantined for the next week or so, so I’m pretty much living in the bedroom. It’s day one, and I’m already bored silly. There’s a big difference between having a well-deserved break for vacation or winter break, and being forced to stay home. No. Being forced to stay in one room of your home. It’s a little startling how emotionally icky it feels. Your head knows the fact that people aren’t going to be comfortable around you for a while is nothing personal, but your heart. Totally taking it personally. And me being me, well…do I really need to explain? What if I’m sick for weeks? What if I never get better? What if no one ever feels comfortable around me again? What if I ruin a cast mate’s trip to Disney World? What if everyone is mad at me for getting COVID? Maybe COVID is all my fault! Hey, you don’t have to tell me this is nonsense. I’m not stupid. I’m just a little nuts. And now I’m crazy and contagious. It’s all I can do not to apologize to anyone I’ve ever met for…something. I don’t know! Just hang on a minute, something will come to me! Ok. Deep Breath. It’s all fine. Breathe in. Breathe out. Just not in the direction of anyone else.