This is what my friend, Diezel calls the COVID vaccinations. Somehow, we became vaccination twins: our second shots both lining up on the same day.
I’ll tell you this, on the second day I’m definitely feeling the accuracy of that moniker.
First shot: nothing.
Second shot: well, I’m not sure it’s a legit malaise or my usual “my lazy ass”. I described it to Diezel as feeling like I was taken apart and forced back together.
Overall, completely acceptable side effects 29 hours in.
Which is great news for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which was a certain Bubble Boy with an itch that needed scratching. He had wanted to come over last night and had been trying to set something up since Sunday.
So, actually, he wanted to come over Sunday night.
Or – please, please, please – Tuesday.
You know a boy is either hard up or sweet on a fat, old man if he’s that persistent. I hear him, though, when he complains about Grindr Gays in particular and asocial media in general – and it leads me to believe it’s the former versus the later.
Last time he’d been over – and keep in mind, this has been going on for about five months, now – he asked what the art in my bathroom was.
Not the painting of someone’s junk!
Fair point…that one is
not mine, for the record fairly self-explanatory. He was talking about this one:
You’re kidding! You don’t know who REM is?!?
He was not kidding. It’s just a dumb album poster for a band, I wouldn’t call it art. But it’s something my youngest brother gave me for Christmas in the last century. He was just a kid at the time, and it meant something to me to be included in his gift giving – which came from his allowance and part-time job earnings. So I put it in a cheap little frame, which was all the rage for one’s framing needs at this point in time. It’s hung in every home of mine since.
The funny thing is that Bubble Boy always compliments my music when he’s over. Until now, I just assumed it was a statement of fact, kind of like agreeing that the sky is blue.
To be fair, that last point might be hard for Republicants to follow, since it involves science.
Once I realized he was unfamiliar with REM, I began to wonder if he liked my music like I liked my grandfather’s. Let’s just push that thought down, though, shall we?
Operating under my “Leave ’em better than you found ’em” mantra, I decided to widen his musical palate. To that end, while I was laying on the couch with a tiny and rare headache following my second shot, I decided to train a new Pandora station for his next visit.
What? I didn’t say it had to be an earth shattering improvement. Just better that they were before meeting me. Plus, music is important. It helps people <ahem> come together.
No other way I could have said that was as cringey or fun for me.
Anyway, since I was still feeling pretty good close to the end of his shift, I told him to get it while it’s (reasonably) good and he came over after work.
What? He’s chasing me down remember? I’m good if only for the simple fact that I’m available.
And I’m glad I had him over last night instead of betting on feeling better today than yesterday.
You know what didn’t friggin’ happen while he was here, though?
That damn station didn’t play a single damn REM song during his visit. Mind you, it’s on the third REM song (forth now, as I proofread) since I turned it on and sat down to tap this out.
My home network technology is kind of a jerk.
Ironically, neither Diezel nor I felt the same relief after our second shot as we did following our first doses. In texting with the Silver Fox yesterday afternoon, I shared that I thought my lack of relief was tied to a sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop as far as side effects were concerned.
As in, the legends around who experiences side effects and why had me feeling rather sure that I’d fall into the side effects realm.
Needless to say, I definitely felt some relief last night around 11. <smiling devil emoji>
Waking up to just stiffness and soreness today also provided a little more relief. I’m not taking it for granted, though. Perhaps my side effects are just running on Gay Standard Time…so I’ll reserve final judgment until tomorrow night.
Plus, on the full protection spectrum, I know I’ve got another 12 days to full efficacy. I’m sure Bubble Boy won’t mind that I don’t have a lot of other social engagements to distract my attention from the maintenance needs of his libido for the near future.
Dying from COVID: meh
Dying in the service of a 29 year old’s hormones: <thumbs up emoji>
Keep your fingers crossed that this barely noticeable side effects trend continues.