Corona Diaries: We’re Not Gonna Make It

My aunt has coronavirus. Multiple comorbidities. In a hospital in New York. She won’t make it.

How can I be there for my mother and my stepdad. Over text. Over the phone. They can’t go see her. They can’t have a funeral. My mom sounds like she’s in shock. I don’t want my mother to be in pain. I don’t want my stepdad to be in pain. I can’t go see them.

Seems meaningless now but I also got a $25,000 pay cut yesterday. Was told I have to do someone else’s job as well as mine. One of the lucky ones. Most people got axed and they’re trying to (REDACTED) a bunch of shit to (REDACTED) for some cannibal ritual in private equity executives’ Aztec MBA religion. I think the guy half of me is replacing was paid half a million a year. I now make enough to live paycheck to paycheck.

The cat has a runny eye. Los Angeles lockdown extended to 2023. We will lock you in your house until your last sperm cell dies, remarked Mayor Eric J. Garcetti. This will last as long as it takes until Delicious Tacos specifically can never find true love. We have to pull together as Angelenos and do what we can to ensure Delicious Tacos dies alone.

Don’t panic. Masks will not help healthy people and we desperately need them to keep our healthcare workers healthy. Gun stores with lines like the last airstrip out of Cambodia then closed. Illegal to own paper towels.

Paycheck to paycheck and they tastefully upped the workload and added more demeaning personal tasks. Using people’s fear to cut costs. Perhaps all wealthy people should be skinned alive on C-SPAN. Conference calls about transferring millions from one shelter to another and some suckup talking about how we can get it into T bills for 60 days to capitalize on the extra interest. It’s just gross, the money.

I think about them HR’ing me about this blog again. If you fuck with me I’ll think of options from 0 to 10. Killing you is an 8, I mutter to an imaginary person getting me fired. Which is to say giving me what I’ve wanted for eight years.

I dreamed about this. I was overpaid. Dreamed they’d give me a pay cut. Dreamed I’d say sure but I want Fridays off. Happened too fast and I didn’t say shit.

First thing to cancel is my therapist. Which insurance told me they’d cover then won’t. I could make a fifth follow up call to see why claims submitted two months ago still don’t show up online but they only cover 60 per cent of 60 per cent of what she charges and it would take until corona is avante garde as polio to meet my deductible. Then the house cleaner. Needless to say Seeking Arrangement and the girls I pay $100 to fuck me unprotected for hours. I’ll miss that. Totally alone and won’t get touched for six weeks and see what happens. Excited for Skype dates. What the fuck do you say at the end. Hey let’s go on another Skype date.

**

She didn’t make it.

She had an incredible life. Part of history. Right up till the end. A million things making her sick but she waited. Went out with the big one. I’ll tell you all about her when you know my real name.

For now: she loved animals. My mom called me. Sounding like she’d seen a child hit by a train. Sometimes I don’t cry right away but for her I did. I walked outside. Woodrow was waiting on the front porch. I petted him for you. I gave him your love.