Man on a Building Site
We're diving into the life of a bloke on a building site. First, we’re gonna see how he was before that bloody long COVID snuck up and wrecked his life. Then, we’ll check out the after, where everything goes to hell. Let's roll.
Before Long COVID
6:00 AM: Alarm goes off like a goddamn siren. I smack it, roll out of bed, and guzzle down some coffee. Need that caffeine hit to kickstart the day. Grab my hard hat and lunchbox, kiss the missus, and I'm out the door.
7:00 AM: Arrive at the site. The lads are already there, shooting the shit. I join in, cracking jokes and giving Bill a hard time for his terrible haircut. We get our assignments, and it's time to get to work.
8:00 AM - 12:00 PM: Hammer in hand, I'm a machine. Building frames, mixing concrete, carrying heavy loads—no problem. The sun's out, and I'm sweating like a pig, but it feels good. The banter keeps us all going, and there's a rhythm to the work that's damn satisfying.
12:00 PM: Lunch break. We sit on the scaffolding, chomping down sandwiches and trading stories. Someone's always got a laugh, and it feels like we're on top of the world.
12:30 PM - 5:00 PM: Back to it. The afternoon drags a bit, but the end is in sight. More lifting, more hammering, more sweating. My muscles ache, but it's a good ache. By the end of the day, we've made real progress.
6:00 PM: Home sweet home. I wash off the grime, collapse on the couch, and enjoy a cold beer. The missus makes dinner, and we eat together, watching some mindless TV. I hit the sack, ready to do it all again tomorrow.
After Long COVID
6:00 AM: That fucking alarm. It feels like I just fell asleep. Drag myself out of bed, every muscle groaning like it's aged fifty years overnight. Coffee doesn't even touch the fatigue anymore. Kiss the missus, but it's more out of habit. I grab my hard hat and lunchbox with a sigh.
7:00 AM: Get to the site, but the energy's gone. The lads are still joking, but it's like they're speaking another language. I fake a smile, try to keep up, but my head's in a fog.
8:00 AM - 12:00 PM: Christ, everything is heavy. Even the goddamn hammer feels like it's made of lead. Shortness of breath kicks in just from walking across the site. I have to sit down every now and then, pretending to check my phone so the guys don’t notice. The brain fog is the worst—sometimes I forget what I was supposed to be doing halfway through a task.
12:00 PM: Lunch break. Food tastes like cardboard. The sandwiches I used to love might as well be sawdust. I force it down, trying to join in the conversation, but it's like wading through molasses.
12:30 PM - 5:00 PM: The afternoon is torture. Every step, every lift, every movement feels like climbing a mountain. I’m slower, and the lads are starting to notice. I see the concern in their eyes, the pity. Fuck, I hate pity. My head pounds, and by 3 PM, I’m just going through the motions.
6:00 PM: Finally home. The missus asks how my day was, and I snap at her. Regret it immediately, but I’m too damn tired to apologize properly. I collapse on the couch, but even the beer tastes off. Dinner is a blur. I hit the sack, dreading tomorrow.
That’s the goddamn difference, you see? Before, life was tough but manageable. After long COVID, it's like dragging a ball and chain through every waking moment. That shit takes a toll, physically and mentally. Keep that in mind before you start whining about your little sniffles.