Less than a week after telling my head-shrinker I wasn't freaking out about the coronavirus, I was emailing my boss to tell her I need to telework til they get a handle on it.
A few days after that, I emailed my swimming instructor to say I wouldn't be coming for a while.
I don't think I am paranoid about it exactly. Nor do I think I am particularly high risk, even though my heart and lungs are not my most awesome features.
The chief problem is my inability to stay away from other people's germs. I need help, whether it is taking my water bottle out of my bag, filling my water bottle or picking me up after a fall. If I touch a cootie-filled grab bar with my right hand, the cooties spread to my wheelchair controller or any other part of the chair I touch. Then, even if I wash my hands, the cooties are still on my chair. I'd have to carry wipes around and use them liberally, and even then I just don't think it would work. At least at home, they're my cooties.
Teleworking also saves my work neighbors from worrying as I have been known to cough.
I haven't gone total recluse yet, still showering, shaving, doing my nails.
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