A short play in three lines:
ME: Well, I’ve lost my sense of taste. {Slams refrigerator door in disgust}
ANDY: There is some angel hair pasta in the fridge and the sauce turned out really good.
ME: CAN’T TASTE ANYTHING!!!
Such passes Day-God-Knows-What of our combined COVID adventures. This month has beat me down emotionally, mentally, and now physically, and I almost forgot that next week was my birthday until someone’s social media reminder popped up. I have reservations at a restaurant I’ve been waiting to try for years in Boston but who knows if we’ll make it there. We may have to add it to the long list of canceled events and fun plans that all got woefully derailed by the awfulness of this summer.
Honestly, I’m not even sure I care. COVID just robbed me of taste and smell – two things that bring me some of the greatest joy in life – hell, there are specific categories for each on this site (see Food and Cologne). And a quick perusal of my Birthday Amazon Wish List reveals that fragrance has been a longtime and regular motif in my Book of Desire. If I can’t taste or smell anything, I’m not sure what purpose I serve anymore… but hey, it’s almost my birthday, so happy fucking birthday to me!
“You know I deserve it…”
PS – Having just re-read this maudlin, melodramatic, whiny, bitter post, it dawns on me that this is largely why I’ve been avoiding writing blog posts with my usual regularity: I’m pissy. More pissy than usual, and perhaps I have reason to be, but that’s no reason to inflict it on the world at large. Still, there’s something as morbidly funny as there is disturbingly tragic about trying to make light of the events of this past summer, and if we can’t laugh, well, what is the goddamn point of any of this? So this post shall remain, until the COVID cloud passes and I come to what remaining senses I likely never even had.
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