It’s 3pm. I’m waking up, and my head is spinning from a night in with friends. How lucky are we to have each other in the time of COVID.

I drag myself to the toilet and puke. It’s all bile. But it feels good.

Paul brings in food delivery. Seared ahi, broccoli, mac n cheese, beef stew. And carbonated soda for my stomach.

I lie in bed for another 5 hours. I’m still here, writing this. Luna is sleeping by my feet. And the voices in Discord are background noise to fill the space.

Space. So much space. I’ve never had a bedroom or a bed this spacious. I want to cry.

I’ve never felt this spoiled in my life.

I think back. I’ve shared rooms almost my entire life. I lived off canned tuna and sneaking mayo packets from UCLA restaurants. I haven’t had canned tuna since.

We qualified for EBT. Everything was manager’s special. We still look for specials. But our bodies aren’t so desperate.

We’re no longer worried about food. Or fleas. Or refinery air. Or space.

Years and years of so much hard work. To buy us this privilege. Is that even the right word.

How far we’ve come.