Goddamn it

Okay, I confess, I got a bit lax in France back in April. I didn’t wear a mask in shops. And I dodged a bullet – the Covid bullet.

The same bullet I’ve managed to dodge for five and a half years. Bit smug? Yeah, maybe.

I’ve been a bit lax since our return as far as masking in shops goes. But, once I agreed to do a play, that stopped. I was (the only one) masked in airports, on planes and trains when I went back to the UK for Lauren’s funeral. I’ve been wearing my mask in shops since I’ve been back. I’ve been careful.

I told him last month. I said the only thing I really wanted for my birthday this month was to be living with him. We had a plan. It wasn’t going to be The Big Move. There’s still a lot of clearing out to do before that can happen.

But Maisie’s Afghan-proof tower (which she loves) had been moved from the kitchen here to the bedroom there.

A handyman had installed cat flaps.

The plan was to shift my dressing table and chest of drawers (and a few other things) over there last Thursday so I could wake up in his arms on my birthday. Reservations had been made – dinner just the two of us on my actual birthday, dinner with friends on Saturday evening.

And then last Monday I woke up with that achy all over just under the skin feeling you get when you’re coming down with a cold. Well, that sucked.

But, you know, I’m in a play (a play I convinced him to also be in so we could do it together) and I really should test, just to be on the safe side.

What the fuck? After five and a half years, THIS is when fucking Covid comes calling?

So, no move, no waking up on my birthday in the arms of the man I love, no birthday dinners, no rehearsals for a week and a half, no dress rehearsal last night.

And…

… no opening night tonight.  (Getting faint, but still there.)

As I wrote on Facebook after yesterday’s positive test result: “CONGRATULATIONS, YOU STUPID BLOODY VIRUS (and whoever gave it to me). Not only did you fuck up my plans for my birthday last week (and they were actually quite important plans, you bastard), but you’re hanging in there long enough to fuck me over for the dress rehearsal tonight and I guess the run of the play. Go fuck yourself.”

Goddamn it.