My symptoms started on Sunday (Clare is four days ahead of me). So today being Thursday I'm in the 4–6-day window when symptoms are at their most acute. Today it's shivering, muscular and joint aches, and the feeling of being alienated from one's own body. A poor night's sleep last night was partially compensated for by three hours' sleep this afternoon.
I haven't picked up a guitar for serious practice for three days — I lack the energy and mental concentration. Instead, I'm escaping into Jerry Pournelle (Janissaries, Mamelukes, Starswarm).
I did also finish The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Milan Kundera) and, as always, was awestruck by the penetrating intelligence of this novel: its characterisation, its narrative arc and its deep integration of philosophy and cultural analysis (cf. kitsch) with personal destiny. The bar is set very high for would-be novelists here.
Around me, life swirls actively: Alex and Clare were at the garden centre this morning while I was shiveringly putting a washing cycle through; this afternoon, while I slept, seven or eight purchased plants and bushes were relocated into the back and front gardens. To be honest, I am largely indifferent, but that's a minority position.
And the P(doom) nonsense continues unabated — luckily, COVID inoculates you against caring that 'someone (a lot of people) said something (lots of things) very stupid on the Internet (and MSM)'.
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