another weekend, whats the point?

 Last monday I took the day off. 

I got a massage.

The week went ok.

I got friday off unexpectedly. I did a bunch of chores and paid some bills, trying to wrap things up before heading out of town. 

At 8 pm last night I got a call from the massage place saying that I may have been exposed to Covid. 

I cancelled my weekend plans and stayed up till 4 am watching Lucifer on Netflix. 

I woke up to a call from my mom at about 11-11:30 this morning. I sat around and didn't do anything. 

At a certain point I went out and got taco bell. 

It's hard to know how to live this life. 

I have no symptoms, and is it very likely I didn't get exposed at all, was just in the same space. 

But I won't know until I get tested and apparently weekend testing on a holiday weekend is a little dismal. 

Part of me wants to think this is some existential thing, like I am being kept at home for a purpose. 

Part of me thinks its a punishment, a personal hell. 

Part of me knows this is ridiculous and pandemics have hit humanity since the beginning. Nothing new here. 

But I am lonely, so its easier to distract or fantasize than face the truth. 

Each day is like working at the mall on a slow night, playing little mind games to keep from going crazy. I invite drama into my head when I take walks. 

I look at facebook to provoke a little spark. 

I think I'd be a good husband and father. I like running errands with and for the people I love. I like just spending time. It doesn't need to be fancy. But I don't even have a crush. 

All this time makes me wish I had the brain to write. It would be wonderful to get the book done. But I just don't feel the capacity to do so. I read a chapter, edit a few paragraphs and then move on. 

Maybe tomorrow?

More Lucifer I guess. Live my life vicariously through other people's fantasies.