The Wiggly Day

I had been careful not to

- as per our specific instructions -

go outside or anywhere unusual

- only to the grocery store line -

and always wearing a mask

- barely breathing for the fear -

and knew not to see anyone I knew

who'd been sick in the past two weeks

- just a friend down the street -

- already recovered from illness -

- but not from her mourning -

and yet I wondered that one night

why my soup didn't seem the same

- cosy hot but not beefy enough -

maybe I was just too tired or

coming down with something.

And in the morning, I felt fine

yet something was missing

from my breakfast,

though the plate was filled.

(I should point out:

we were locked in, locked down,

with nothing to do but

finally take care of myself

by making and taking full meals

as an essential element of

now my daily routine.)

Indeed my eggs were chewy, salty

but not eggy-tasting

the toast was dry

the coffee steaming hot

but its flavor was nothing

the very flavor of nothing

if such a thing were to exist.

I was playing guessing games

with my morning smorgasbord

until I confirmed it in the shower

when I squeezed my shampoo bottle

right under my nose and its air shot up

a smell was there or so I thought

but when I rubbed it between my fingers

the conditioner that should have

smelled sweetly of fresh roses

was also nothing.

My suspicious had proved true.

It was a series of trial an error from there.

The chips were so crispy and seasoned

but tasted neither of potato nor jalapeno,

I could even tell the slim cookies were both

chocolate and fruit, but not which fruit.

I waited for the other shoe to drop

for the terrible symptoms to hit me...

but at least at that time, they never did.

And I'd heard it could be worse

yet unlike those in the articles

nothing never became perceived as rancid,

nor did I even lose my appetite.

It was just a wiggly feeling

not to know when (if ever)

I would stop not tasting and smelling.

To sense, yet to not.

And so, not to.

Within a few days it wore off,

smell and taste returned...

though eventually, much later

that symptom did too.

But I knew the drill by then.

Can I smell my soap? No?

Sensing sanitizer in the air, but not its scent.

I stopped being able to tell when or care how.

I finally compared it to being colorblind.

You still see, perhaps clearer than ever,

and yet you know,

you're at a loss.

I usually ignore

whatever it's doing these days,

and for better or worse,

just keep living life again.

Is it fine again,

because I haven't noticed lately,

or I just forgot to keep noticing

what's not fine anymore?

Maybe someday

I'll smell at full force again,

if I haven't already.

In the meantime,

I simply choose not to mind.

Because it's not like there's a choice

except that one -

the kind of mindset to have about it.

And when occasionally, it causes me

to pay more attention to my surroundings --

I almost smell more, by smelling less.