Last night was rough. Spend three hours looking up everything that possibly exists about omicron, isolation, transmission, and dying. Lie in the tub for two hours. Which is a world record. As I head for bed, think: well maybe this is my last night on earth. May not wake up tomorrow.

This level of melodrama (hysterics), persists. My nose is not dripping and I dream the fluid instead fills my lungs. Not sure if I have a headache. Take advil anyway. Wake up 4 times - every few hours. Checking to make sure am still alive. Next thing I know the phone rings. Alysha. 10:00 am. She tells me to stay in bed. I get up.

Don’t feel much different than the day before. Cannot tell if am more ill or just somaticizing. Vitals all normal.

At this point, realize for the second day that am trapped inside the house. Begin to run around. Yesterday Mike brought my packages from the office over. Unwrap them. Hang 4 pieces of art. 3 in the downstairs hallway. Make several miscalculations before getting it perfect. Text with family and friends. Do some work. Unhook two of three outdoor hoses. That third one is super stuck. It is supposed to freeze tonight. Wash blankets. Dry them. Turn on Janet Jackson Rythm Nation. March around.

Order lunch. Which is dinner. What would I do without chef uber eats. Blow nose several times. More than an allergy. Less than a cold. Try to remember to drink. Not thirsty. Sol sends text that says: remember to drink.

Feel sorry for myself. Repeat.

Shellie texts. She’s here. I look at ring alert. Coast is clear. Open the door. She’s inside her closed car. Waves at me. Pick up care package. Close the door. She drives off. Put the flowers on kitchen table. Open up the tin of santa snowman and penguin. Ever hopeful. And yes. There in little clouds of wax paper are sugar cookies and tea cakes.

Photo: feeling sorry for myself.