I'm just kind of wracked by a low-level anxiety beneath everything I'm doing this morning after being reminded of just how close the threat of this pandemic is. Worrying too much about this slight congestion in my throat that only comes about whenever I'm sitting down, the caffeine that makes me feel a little more compressed about my breathing that I keep overthinking. Me Googling every five minutes “what does a low-grade fever feel like?” I'm seriously fine, but having these considerations on top of worrying about who you recently met up with in person — it's kind of a weird fatalistic habit, I'm realizing, and I'm tempted to think that it's reflective of something morbid in me, assuming I did become infected, of expecting the worst and who else I could have involved in the process. It's a rumination that just invites a ton of self-pity, tied with a sorta' notion of pre-destination that gives weight to this idea that things were bound to happen a certain way and that it was only a matter of time. That might seem like a strange connection to make but I'm only talking about the present moment of the me now thinking about who I might have infected, and how there's something in that idea between having something confirmed or not where you feel you need to just give up control to something larger than yourself like 'fate'. I don't give too much thought to the idea in and of itself. In fact, I've always hated it, and all of its associated grifts, such as astrology and the like.
There's usually a process I follow that precedes me writing these posts. Not something so formalized in my mind the way I'm making it sound, really just the things I have to do before something 'feels' right, like how a lot of people don't feel properly tuned in unless they've had their morning coffee and only just the way they like it. But I'm too busy thinking about the day ahead, and just how much of what I have to do might just be negated by the certain fears I have this morning being realized.