Covid test

I went for a Covid test today. Yes, have a bit of a sore throat and headache, but mostly because I'm invited to go with Ruth to her cottage on Thursday and she sensibly wants to be sure I'm safe. As do I. What an amazing experience. How glad I am to live in Canada. They've taken over a whole separate section of St. Mike's - across the street from the actual hospital, everything white, sterile, enclosed. A short lineup, then registering, being questioned and given instruction, then finally the test itself - half an hour, beginning to end. As I waited to see the doctor, I saw a whiteboard nearby with a list of personnel and names: Greeters, registrars, screeners, scribes, runners, testers, and more, with an exhortation scrawled above: "Tough times don't last, tough people do!"

And then the doctor, who had nice dark eyes above his mask and under his shield, shoved the swab up my nose and I was done. I thanked them all profusely. The results will be emailed in a few days.

However, on the ride there and back along Shuter Street, I was ashamed of my city, province, and country. The army of the homeless has increased enormously over these last months; there are tents and tarp enclosures all over, particularly near the Safe Injection site on Queen which is the bane of my dear John's existence - he lives across the street. It's a difficult situation; the homeless and drug addicted need a place to go, but there is certainly an increase in crime and danger where they are.

At home, I filled in the form to complete my online registration; it gave me a bunch of choices for "Sex: female/male/other/undifferentiated/unknown." Really, is there anyone who has no idea what sex they are? Perhaps. We live in strange times.

The shock of today, though, was listening to the recording we made yesterday. OMG, who is that woman talking so slowly and laboriously? The first half hour, at least, will have to be redone. I realize I was working too hard, overthinking as I always do, and also that the writer had overcome the actor and was insisting on each precious word being heard. NYET. Keep it moving, chatty, and fun, princess. Will have to retape. This will take time and may end up being yet another sinkhole for my money. But it's something I have to do.

Cheery tidings from the Guardian: Literary world overwhelmed by 600 books to be published on one day. That day: Sept. 3, a week before the release of my own tome. Ha!

The good news: the other day my son posted on FB about the murder a year ago of the restauranteur next door, how Sam held the wounded man as he died, how hard he took it, how he was diagnosed with PTSD, and how his community (and his parents) supported him through it. It was eloquent, moving, deeply honest. He has had almost 300 Likes and many kind, loving messages. FB is good for some things.