Homie probably has Covid-19, almost certainly the Omicron variant. We gave him a test yesterday, which showed negative, but we remain convinced Homie has the ‘Rona.
Lots of thoughts. Little fear, which frankly is amazing. We’ve lived in fear of the virus for two years. It is what it is. Fear.
Now, almost an ambivalence about even getting it ourselves. We don’t think it’ll hurt Homie. Go fucking Science, eh?
If he’s positive, he picked it up from a great kid, doing something beautiful. Homie’s hockey team frankly sucks — in terms of, you know, competing for wins — but they’re some of the best people I’ve ever known. They are all physically fit and bright and engaged with each other and with the world more broadly.
They’re also nice AF, as they might describe it. Actually nice to each other. As far as I can tell, anyway.
The guy he likely caught it from, our little vector buddy, is a committed D man. He’s a fine student, as I understand it. He’s always been a pleasure on the team, several years in a row now — enthusiastic, great hard skater, and a gentleman. He’s also in something of a romantic relationship with the girl we would most like Homie to marry. Or partner with. Whatever. So far, anyway.
We expect to test again, either this afternoon or tomorrow morning. My First Responder practice is tomorrow, and I’ve just asked Homie if we can test him live at the meeting. Given the prevalence of omicron, we’re doing it on Zoom.
I love that he’s willing to do it in front of the village. Crow Island is a tight little community, so everyone here knows my son. Medical testing in the public square seems a little edgy. I suppose if he were doing it on his Snap or whatever, it might be different.
He and I also appreciate that the notoriety of having the bug has diminished, now that we understand its amazing prevalence. An ungodly percentage of the world has contracted this particular flavour of the shared biome. An extremely tangible demonstration of our interconnectedness. I keep hoping it decreases fertility over the long haul. Or something.
Meanwhile, Putin wants to penetrate Ukraine. Earth is unequivocally meteorologically weird and fairly obviously failing in her balancing act, thanks to our good efforts. My home country has ruptured. It’s hard to imagine a peaceful path forward.
There’s an undeniable sense of doom in the air.
But Homie seems beautifully unperturbed. What’s he on to?
Crow Island 