Tag: writing

I learned some months ago that a corporate communications campaign I worked on bagged a gold and a silver medal at an industry awards show. With the nature of freelance corpo-comms, I can’t say who the client is on this platform. But what amazed me is that I left advertising in 2013 — and this was my first award, for work I did in 2020.

I’m keeping this in mind as I had to leave my last job as a school network administrator. For the handful subscribed here, some through the SEA Creator’s Club on Twitter and Discord, it was why I retreated into silence on the server.

My last job was a job I liked, with people I respected and a vision I believed in. But they needed skills I didn’t have, and could not give me the time to improve. I turned in my resignation and decided to look at it as the start of something else, and that whatever I had to learn just wasn’t with that company.

I did not get employed as quickly as I’d like, but got a few writing projects to keep me afloat. I can afford not to worry, but I still worry.

I have a newfound appreciation for “rote work”. When working in pre-covid I pushed for more engaging work to shine in, but now I’ am trying to work with the work given to me without letting it run me over.

I’m trying not to shrink myself for work.

I’m trying not to undermine my worth in work.

I will not define myself by the work that I do.

Wish me luck – I hope I don’t lose the roof over my head while I’m at it.

Every chart about covid care talks about the physical symptoms. 10 days in quarantine, as of writing, is the standard treatment time for covid. You may experience flu-like symptoms, difficulty breathing, and/or lack of taste and smell. If you are unvaccinated and/or with a weak immune system, or if covid travels downwards to the respiratory system. you could die. We know this by heart.

I spent the Christmas holidays of 2021 dealing with covid. It was my first Christmas really on my own, with just me and the dog in the unit. I was only allowed out of my tiny studio apartment for a brief period on my 10th day, but was asked to return to unit quarantine as the building management grew worried at a growing spike of cases on my floor alone.

(Never mind that I had done my part and past 10 days, my covid is non-transmissable — but I was in no mood do a high school science lecture to people who live and die by day-to-day duties.)

I didn’t feel lonely, and my symptoms were flu-like. If there wasn’t a pandemic, I’d just sleep this off, I told my friends. I’ve reported to work with worse symptoms and higher temperatures.

But 2020 brain has hit emergency mode, and it is wired differently. Where I thought I was merely resting and watching shows on streaming, in truth it was preparing for the worst. An admission I couldn’t share with a lot of my friends I updated on socials, as soon as day 2, I had a witness to a will and testament for if I didn’t make it.

There was no great drama involved as I prepared those details. This whole pandemic could have been handled better, and I had done everything I could to avoid the virus. If it was destiny for me to end my story there, I’d take it. I was more scared of having to go to the hospital more than anything.

I thought I only gave my heart and brain to day 2, but past 10 – when I knew I was in the clear, itching to go out, jealous as hell over everyone’s beach trip photos – the gears of the emergency brain turned slowly.

Past day 15 I got news of a found family getting symptoms. And another, and another, and another. I am still getting updates on friends and acquaintances getting it and counting down. Year 2022 had just started, and in the first week I was attending to two at-risk households dealing with symptoms and scared.

2 families. 2 work mates. A friend from college. A new friend. My Mom’s junior writer from before.

And now what? I wonder as I behold the mess that surrounded me. I needed to do laundry but it was too dangerous to go out for it now that the stats warn that every other person in my city may be infected. And of course there is work. I like my new job. But I was working on a document that took me two days to do before my covid, and now four days have lapsed and it was like moving stones as I typed.

Wisdom wrapped in internet humor observes that we grew up wondering why people didn’t just run from Zombies during an outbreak — now we know too well what it meant when they had to stay behind to work. They couldn’t afford it. We hang on to the hope of when this all blows over. And anyone who’s had to climb, whether it was the playground monkey bars or mountains, knows the strength it takes to pull up.

We’ve been pulling up since 2020, and there is no end in sight.

My physical symptoms for covid were mild. I had joint pains, back ache, sniffles, the cough, and occasional low fever. I never even lost my sense of smell and taste.

But I could have died, I realized. I was vaccinated, but the body has its own secrets. It could have not worked out. There is no grand melodrama involved in acknowledging this, but it has a weight of its own. It is not the brain fog of long covid per se, but it is part of its run.

My physical run with covid was 10 days, but I did 5 more days of quarantine. We don’t acknowledge the days after. The really lucky ones are the ones who could easily dive back into work as part of the cursed “new normal”. Me though, if asked, I suffered from covid for 24 days.

For 10 days, I had symptoms.
For 15 days, I was quarantined.
For 9 more days, I grieved for this sick world.

And I am fit for work now, but I don’t know when this will all get better.