Everyone has read articles about Covid, about the mass death, the horror that that’s caused, and anti-vax facebook moms that refuse to believe any of it is real. Well, this isn’t that story, I promise.

In this article there’s no human nature triumphing in the midst of evil, or anything like that. Those stories exist out there. Much more talented writers than myself have tackled them, turning a person’s hardship into a beautiful and impactful story; truly highlighting the dangers and horrible consequences of this virus. 

Unfortunately, that’s not what I am doing here. 

This article is just me, quarantined in my room, having not seen the sun for days, wrapped in my blanket like a burrito, writing about my common problem that about 57% of the world has faced. 

Yes, yes, I got Covid. Even double vaccinated, boosted, religiously wearing a mask for all kinds of social events, I still came down with the modern plague. 

Being the only one in my family who got Covid, I quarantined in my room; my parents dropped food outside my door in full PPE gear, then ran away as I snatched it up. I then returned to my cave with the newly-gotten spoils. 

Having expended more energy than I had that entire day, I returned to my burrito-like state, promptly refueled and fell asleep.

We all remember the beginning of the pandemic; terrified to even go to the grocery store, for fear of a stranger in a mask five feet away letting out a cough.  

While my parents were getting multiple Covid close-contact notifications a day, children falling sick left and right, I stayed healthy, sure that I would outlast this pandemic and anything it threw at me. I wore my mask, followed CDC advice, and managed to stay untouched. 

I thought I was safe. The mandates started lifting; fewer and fewer people were getting sick. I started to wear my mask less often, and did increasingly more things without it. 

But as it turned out, I was not in the clear, for right as midterms descended upon the school like winged, soul sucking predators, I came down with a fever. 

While I did get to postpone my midterms, the other school work started to pile up. I would open up my laptop, dreading the hundreds of Canvas notifications.

      During quarantine, everyone was stuck in their houses, going crazy from boredom. They were all missing out, because Covid canceled everyone’s plans. 

Now, in the later stages of the pandemic all my friends and acquaintances were at school, turning in their assignments, able to listen to their lessons in-person. Their schooling remained uninterrupted by non-email-responsive teachers, and those who only ever do their work on paper. 

Trapped in my blue-walled prison, surrounded by the built up debris that comes from having a trash can the size of a soda can, I sat curled up with my computer scouring canvas for anything to do; so that when I got back, the mountain of school work might not crush me. 

I found out the hard way that even if you have an excused absence, some teachers will still put zeros in the gradebook, and then change them weeks later when you turn the work in. 

As the days went by I watched helplessly as the pile of assignments grew and grew, and as my email inbox stayed empty. 

After closing down my computer, I walked the two steps it took me to get from my desk to my bed; promptly collapsing, and screaming into my pillow, dreading the day I finally returned to school.