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My 2 week unpaid leave from work due to Covid-19 is almost over. Tomorrow is the last day I have to call in for it, the next day is a normal day off for me, and I’ll be back on Tuesday. My feet and ankles are already hurting in anticipation.

I’ve left the house—meaning my driveway—three times in two weeks. I’ve been outside in the yard and on the porch, but I’ve only been further three times. All three times were to my Mother-In-Law’s. We will probably be going tomorrow as well.

In all honesty I’d prefer to stay home. I’d have loved to not left the house AT ALL. But it’s good for the kid to get out, even if it’s only to the same place. In fact, she’s not been anywhere besides home since the first week of March. Two MONTHS. I’m not sure I could have done two months.

I will be glad to get back to work, though I’m unsure of what I’ll be going back too. Have they realized they don’t need me after all and they’ll let me go? How many new people have they hired in order to fill empty spots? Will they speak to me? How many licks does it really take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?

I’m sure it’ll be fine. My self-depreciation and paranoia are really the only reasons why I think everyone hates me or is generally indifferent. Not that they’d tell me, to be honest.

Anyway, I’m just happy I got my kid to sleep BEFORE 1am.

Thanks for reading.