When A Negative Is A Positive

Had a Covid scare last night.

My housemate had rather flippantly I might add, casually mentioned on our group chat that he had sat next to someone who tested positive for hours in a car.

I got the message walking to my friends house and had to immediately turn around and come home.

I don’t mind catching Covid, it’s not like there is some stigma and you’ll be a gross loser forever. But I worry more about passing it on to others who are more vulnerable.

I had been near my housemate after his exposure, then I had been to see friends and family. That was the sinking sicky feeling I felt. Panic that I had potentially exposed them.

My housemate, myself and my friends got tested that night. The eerily quiet testing centre at 7pm. The white bright floodlights lighting up rows and rows of cubicles. Men and woman in full PPE guiding you like an animal to a holding pen. Or the slaughter house. Formality makes me soooo nervous. And those testing centres put me right on edge.

I was mentally preparing my 10 isolation. How many books could I read? Yoga everyday? What will I eat? What time will I be allocated to go to the kitchen?

We’re all negative. Phew.

See ya.

Photo by Brandon Holmes on Unsplash