Today marks exactly 18 months since I first got sick with Covid (for the first time lololol party time).

A year and a half feels like a milestone and a stone cold bitch, Reader.

Earlier in the week, I realized that the 19th would fall smack dab on the day I usually (sometimes? occasionally?) email you, and that felt entirely poetic.

Like the story was dying to be told.

And then on Thursday morning, shortly before we were supposed to leave for Seattle for a Mariners game, I tested positive for Covid a THIRD TIME.

I told you it was a party.

But also, come on.

What feels more poetic and glorious than recovering from Covid on the anniversary of first getting Covid while trying to decipher what is this round of Covid and what is just symptoms from the first or second round. Joy! Bliss! Best game of whodunnit I've ever played!

This round was rough, but not as bad as the first. Worse than the second. Fun to compare!

I'm feeling better now a few days later. But the fam went on our sweet little trip without me (IT'S FINE FOR SOMEONE WHO STRUGGLES WITH FOMO), and there were moments when I was genuinely worried about my heart rate and my oxygen levels.

But I found myself evaluating. After a year and a half of symptoms, was this worse or different? Was I surprised or frustrated or disappointed?

I found myself in such a calm sense of acceptance that I irritated even myself. So this is just my life now, I guess.

All the supplements and all the doctor's visits and all the denied referrals and all the insurance claims. All the tears and all the night sweats and and all the panic attacks. All the rage and all the hopeless anger and all the grief.

What has it all been for?

Here's what I know for almost certain and IT PISSES ME OFF TO SAY IT:

I wouldn't trade it.

It's turned my body entirely upside down and it's send me into a depression at times and introduced a level of anxiety I had never previously understood.

It's changed EVERYTHING.

I've had to ask for help and say no and rely on other people and create clear boundaries and prioritize my own damn self.

It's sent me into a trauma loop every time my symptoms pop up and it's made me irrationally rage at anyone who's ever said Covid is no big deal or "like the flu" or any other horse crap people told themselves to justify their shitty behavior.

But it's changed me all the way down to my fingernails.

It drew a clear No Bullshit Line for me because I was just too exhausted for the bullshit.

It forced me to stare my convictions straight in the face and stop pretending like everyone always had The Best of Intentions, even when they were being horrible.

It forced me to reckon with some of my own crappy behavior. Which I would like you to know is reallllll irritating. Sitting with your own shame OF YOUR OWN VOLITION is uncomfortable.

Why did it do all of this?

I wish I could pinpoint exactly.

I'm just tired. All the time. Which leaves little room for nonsense.

It's also left me feeling entirely out of control of my own body. Which leads me to find areas in my life I CAN control.

Like how I react and what I say and what I choose to do with my time and my words.

How I'm spending this one wild and precious life, you know?

I would wish this zero percent on zero people and I would probably give it away today if I had the chance, but not sure I wish it had all been different.

Which is super annoying, thanks for asking.

Why can't we just learn the hard life lessons during the easy times?

Why we gotta be forged by the fire and strengthened by adversity or whatever? Can't we just learn our lessons while eating an ice cream cone on a perfectly lovely summer day?

Stupid universe.

But as my boy Walt Disney said, "You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.”