It was the first COVID party we attended. It took place in the garden, so there was enough room to keep the prescribed distance, and all participants – both hosts and guests – wore masks. The hostess (a mutual friend) served drinks, and there was a plan to wash the glasses once the party ended. Strangely enough, what would have prompted a mix of criticism and approval before my injury, reassured me after it. COVID scares me: I’m scared of getting seizures triggered by the fever, one of the symptoms of the disease; of reliving all the emotions stirred by my trips back and forth to the hospital and my stays there; of the increase of my weakness and helplessness; and, certainly (and irrationally), of death.
Whether because I felt reassured or because the weather was mild – stars appeared one after the other in the clear sky - I had a lot fun. There were plenty of friendly, interesting guests, and I enjoyed the conversation and the music (performed by two musician friends of the friend who had invited us).
The evening turned into night without my noticing. Suddenly, I felt very tired, and told Eric to push me home. A mix of tiredness and happiness accompanied me all along the (short) way there. Once he, Nathan, and I got in, Eric gave me my meds, helped me through my nightly routine, and kissed me good night.
These are my favorite parties: exciting, fun, and full of people I would like to get to know. That’s why ignoring my tiredness was worthwhile.