Suppose I should make record of this here, if just for my benefit, so I remember when it happened (and also because I don’t make nearly enough use of this platform).
We were tasked with performing stocktake at my day job on Friday, 26th May 2023, and at or around this time (I put it this way because I’m not sure exactly when it happened), I contracted Covid for the first time.
More annoyingly, mind you, I didn’t realise, and not only did I give it to my wife, Beth, but we had my mum and stepdad around on the Saturday, and I gave it to them too. Of course, because it was still incubating in me (if that’s the right word), the RAT test I performed before they showed up was negative – as it’s been chilly of late, I just thought I was getting a head cold.
Not great.
The four of us have, as such, spent most of the week just gone fighting the damn thing.
I don’t know if it’s China that made it, but I believe that someone did, and that, there, is a staggering level of fear. Even in spite of the creation of a book like Objectivity, it never ceases to amaze how I can still be schooled on what it means to be man. Indeed, is it not overstating things to say that, if you’ve lived through Covid, you’ve survived your own little assassination attempt?
This all said, anyone who’s read that book will know I’m a bit pessimistic when it comes to the working world. I’m not as noble as Steph, but her situation and her orientation are effectively a reflection of my own life and experiences.
At this point, I will just mirror the joke I included in my morning email to my father, where I expect to be presented a sympathies card on behalf of our owner upon my return next week, overwhelmed with grief how admirable it is that I contracted Covid while tending to my duties.
No, I jest, of course, and not just because I doubt said owner even knows that I came down with it, but all the more pertinently, that they could give a fuck.