Muh Muh Muh My Corona (virus)

FEIGL-DING! FEIGL-DING! FEIGL-DING!

 

Had no problems with either Moderna shot, other than a sore arm for a day or two. Good luck!

 

I don’t want to be the guy we hate, but my wife and I were out today, and I’ve about hit the wall in terms of mask wearing. I’ve done it religiously for a year. Putting it on is second nature. I don’t know what came over me today, but I was quite aggravated. I don’t know if it’s the year mark, warmer weather, my glasses fogging up trying to read labels, not breathing easily, or what but I was nearly “that guy.”
We went to Ollie’s. Just inside the door, they had a bunch of fishing stuff. I started going through the boxes. My glasses started to fog, and I was huffing. Later, we were buying a set of sheets, the same thing happens, and I about lost my mind.

By the way, Ollie's has some really good prices on 1500-thread count king size sheets.

 

We didn’t start wearing masks to go to the store probably until about a month later. Maybe longer. They weren’t available and more importantly, the CDC said they weren’t effective.

When we went to face coverings, we first went to bandanas with rubber bands behind the ears. We found some online; most places were out.

 

My husband had moderna. He had absolutely no after effects from the second shot. He was easier than the first one.

 

Both my parents got their shot today. So happy.

 

Maybe. They'll. Die.

 

I suspect a decent percentage of these people will actually (secretly) get the vaccine and are saying they won't get it because of peer pressure. Their Bible -- whether the actual one or the Gospel According to Trump -- tells them they have to oppose the vaccine because taking it will help the country get over the Virus That Doesn't Exist faster and may -- Tebow forbid -- create goodwill toward Biden.

 

Reading, hearing and listening to all the stories about what the pandemic has rendered abnormal takes me back to my high school graduation. My high school band director was murdered in cold blood. We knew something was wrong that morning as he didn't show up for school. Around lunchtime, my fourth-period Spanish instructor - who had to suffer my unwillingness to learn combined with the fact that her class conflicted with when the most of the band usually gathered for class/rehearsal - told us that he was dead. I looked at her, and without saying a word she nodded to let me go to join the rest of the band. We were traumatized.

We found out later that day that he had been stabbed to death by a scorned lover. That occurred 30 years ago today. Still haunts me every day.

 

Eventually.

We found out on a Thursday. He had already been hauled in by the end of the weekend. But he claimed insanity. In North Carolina, that meant that while he was to be institutionalized for life, he could not be tried until he no longer claimed insanity.

We all went through the rest of the school year, which had a black cloud that lingered. When I auditioned for marching band at my soon-to-be next school, the director sent his condolences, then he let me in anyway after a shaky audition, saying I sight read well.

Anyway, almost two years later, I got a call from a good friend who was also in the band during our school days who was home that semester taking care of some things on the Homefront. He left a message on my answering machine in the dorm room that simply said "Sonofab_tch finally pled guilty. Two life terms."

For the first time in two years, I breathed again. Ended up earning a music minor, and had almost as many hours in music as I did in my degree program.

I did that for myself, and I did it for my stepfather, who loved music but never understood why I didn't listen to the same things as he did and didn't understand that different people can appreciate music in different ways for different reasons. But I also did it for my band director, who was smiling somewhere.