I finally got the first dose of the COVID vaccine. 10 traumatizing months and a 45-minute wait in line, and it came not a moment too soon. Everyone running the pop-up clinic was stressed, but (not to brag) getting the vaccine was the most relaxed I had felt in months.
“I have some news,” my dad tells me on our morning call, “my mother died.” I immediately stop pouring my coffee and take him off speakerphone. “Wait, what?” My father goes on to tell me that she passed away earlier that morning in her London apartment and that he would send me the Zoom funeral information when he had it.
Content Warning: This content may be triggering to those struggling with eating disorders Like any anxiety-riddled modern bitch, I experienced a nauseating thought-spiral upon hearing that I would be required to stay in my home for the foreseeable future.