The Coronaviary

In the cold light of day — the morning after — I’m wondering what kind of mess I got myself into. I should have known better. I won’t know if I’m in trouble for a couple of weeks. Every day I’m checking for signs and symptoms of what fate awaits me. Some days I wake up strong and confident and on others I’m sure I’ll pay for my lapse in judgement.

I run back through all the details, play by play. Am I re-scripting the re-runs to favor a positive outcome? Maybe we didn’t go too far after all. Maybe we stopped just in time. Some of the particulars are less clear now. Yes, there was some alcohol involved.

… do I hear an echo from a past life? …

My resolve was pretty strong until the second glass of Prosecco. That smoothed the way to accepting the lure of an indoors invitation out of the heat. Then the mask came off — oh so easily. You don’t need to wear that here I was told. I was persuaded to cast caution to the wind by the excitement of a real conversation in the flesh. It felt so good. The surge in optimism depleted my will power to do anything but stay. Good intentions and firm boundaries evaporated in the seduction of the moment. 

Now what? Everyone around me is “doing it”, why am I so worried? Am I being a nervous Nelly or sensible Sally? When will it be the right time to break out?

For today I’m happily back in my safe bubble — but it feels like it has a small leak now.