No fool’in

Yesterday I got Wu his first Trumpvirus shot, reassuringly delivered by the local fire chief, and was mentally congratulating myself on the completion of 200,000 words about the lockdown of 2020. He never got out of the car and he also didn’t vagal.

30 minutes later my phone rings in the middle of a zoom with the family lion tamer/oracle who helps us navigate the world of Autism, head injuries, and chronic depressions. It’s Pup calling to tell us he just got a call from the red pill’d roommate who had been “feeling a little under the weather” 11 days ago when Pup brought New Girl up to the house for dinner. Roomie just tested positive for C-19. He thought it was “just the flu.” As fond as I am of the kid, and concerned, right now I’d like to give him a full-on socially distanced boot in the ass. So I explain how viral load works and instruct the young men to claim opposite ends of separate floors as lone zones. Pup makes a beeline to the local clinic for a Trumpvirus test and I schedule him for the vax I was trying to get him to go take care of long before his parents and brother had theirs. His job involves regular trips out to the world to do “covid cleans” frgwdske! We had talked about this just the days before. “I don’t want to take anything somebody else needs,” he told me. “WE need you to be vaccinated because right now YOU are the weakest link” I countered. He’s onboard now.

We cut down my favorite tree on Sunday just ahead of a bonafide Eastern Washington Mud Storm. If dirty cars and a missing tree weren’t enough to annoy me now there’s an old mobile home dead center of my view of the tree-covered hillside across the lake. I have a million-dollar view of a hillbilly hideout. No longer can I lay on the couch and pretend I’m alone in the woods.