(I sent this letter to President Biden, via WhiteHouse.gov, at 6:00:00 p.m. CDT today.)
September 3, 2022
Dear President Biden:
My name is Nicholas Scribner. I have not contacted the executive branch under your administration yet about the issue of needing–not wanting–a new identity in WITSEC. I should also note I did vote for you in 2020.
While I understand I can’t demand when I get into WITSEC, I think an ideal time would be between now and the middle of October, since my brother, Marc Scribner, is getting married in Knoxville on Oct. 22.
My brother manually strangled me for a long time on my dad’s 54th birthday on Dec. 30, 2012. It’s likely it was premeditated attempted murder. I have significant trauma from the crime, which should have landed my brother in a federal prison. But the Carver County Sheriff’s Office decided not to even arrest my brother and just left me stranded in the E.R. without a ride home.
I believe other attempts have been made on my life since then. The worst attempts seem to happen when I am around my brother (I am not going to his wedding for this reason).
My parents are abusing drugs and alcohol on a daily basis; I have been sober since the night of Oct. 30, 2021. Worse yet, my parents’ nearly constant intoxication is causing them to abuse me more than they probably ever have in my life.
No one will hire me for a job because I don’t have a work history. I am very intelligent and able to work, however. I have a B.A. in English from the University of Minnesota–Twin Cities. I was even told by Sid Bedingfield, Kate’s dad, that I was perhaps his best student ever (at least the best JOUR 1001 student) and was his first student to get 100% on one of his multiple-choice exams.
If I am not given a new identity in WITSEC, I believe my parents and/or my brother will find a way to carry out a true 187.
I think good people (such as people in the F.B.I.) will breathe a long sigh of relief and be very happy indeed if you use your presidential powers to give me a new identity in WITSEC.
Beginning this month (August 2022), my parents have been putting their boogers on my bed sheet. Additionally, they have now put boogers on my bed sheet for at least three days in a row. Every time this happens, I have to wash all of my bedding. The police are unable to help, likely because these actions are in a legal gray area (I am by no means a legal expert). If you haven’t been following my online posts, my parents have basically been abusing me and making death threats to me on a daily basis since June 2022. See this blog, my Facebook profile, Jeers, or my YouTube channel for evidence.
Why my parents are doing this is anyone’s guess. For example, if I wanted to make a speculation, I could say they are political terrorists for the Libertarian Party, or religious terrorists for the cult-like religion called Eckankar, with its headquarters in my hometown, or some combination thereof. But that would just be speculation and would do little to help me with this situation.
On Facebook, I am calling on the Carver County Sheriff’s Office, the F.B.I., and the White House to give me a new identity with WITSEC, which I have not succeeded in getting for over 10 years.
At its core, my situation is a human rights case. If you want to help get me out of this abusive, terroristic situation and into WITSEC, please write a succinct letter on my behalf at <https://www.whitehouse.gov/contact/>. Not all heroes wear capes.
The following photos show the boogers my parents have put on my bed sheet. They are organized by date in reverse chronological order. These posts were originally from my Facebook profile, and I am including my messages that go with the photos. I did not want my Facebook profile to become a gallery of photos of my parents’ boogers, so all future updates will be posted to this blog.
Here is a paragraph from my entry for today, which I think bears repeating:
I will create a blog post on NicholasScribner.com later today that documents my parents’ sociopathic behavior with boogers. My Facebook profile ought to look classier. I am, after all, the smartest and most sober person in my family. I believe my dad is dyslexic (I’ve never seen him read a book) and my brother, Marc—who tried to murder me by strangulation on my dad’s 54th birthday on 12/30/2012—had lower ACT scores than me. My mom used to always tell me she and her friends broke into her middle school at night and accessed the files with all the students’ IQ scores; my mom always said her IQ was 149–much higher than any of the other students. This is almost certainly a bunch of malarkey. The three of them together use enough drugs and alcohol to kill a blue whale!
October 12, 2022, at 10:50 a.m.
I found this booger on my bedding, causing me to do laundry.
October 12, 2022, at 6:27 a.m.
I found this puddle of urine approximately two feet in front of my toilet. When I brought it up with my dad, he simply said, “Gotta aim better.”
October 11, 2022, at 8:40 p.m.
This photo shows the wall next to my sink with a sticky substance in the shape of a thumb in the upper right corner, black marks on the left side, and possibly soda droplets in the bottom right corner.
October 11, 2022, at 11:04 a.m.
In this photo, I found what looks like water droplets on my laptop screen.
October 10, 2022 (my 34th birthday), at 5:03 p.m.
There were other incidents between this post and the last one (on October 2), but I didn’t bother photographing them.
I found this booger on my laptop.
October 2, 2022, at 8:26 a.m.
September 30, 2022, at 6:33 p.m.
My dad was drunk and angry with me this evening. I think the reason for his anger was me adding back the quote and self-praise to the front page of this website, which I added at approximately 4 p.m. today.
When my mom got back to my house this evening, I went on a walk with her and my dogs. Because of my dad’s emotional and mental state, I made sure to check for boogers when I came back home. I noticed the following two boogers–which were placed near and under my pillow–when I got back to my home.
But before I took the photos of the boogers, a box of tissues fell to the floor as soon as I walked in my room–which has probably never happened to me before. Twenty minutes later, I discovered graffiti and possible semen next to my door frame (see last photo).
Before I started working on this post, my dad was yelling about and making fun of Sid Bedingfield and how he used to work for CNN.
If you want to help get me out of this abusive, terroristic situation and into WITSEC, please write a succinct letter on my behalf at <https://www.whitehouse.gov/contact/>. Not all heroes wear capes.
September 24, 2022, at 10:24 a.m.
My parents put boogers on my bedding again this morning. The boogers were small (I could only get one of them off with my fingernail because it was stuck), and I did not photograph them. I did, however, wash my bedding.
About 20 minutes ago, though, I noticed what looks kind of like poop on the box of one of my most cherished possessions–a Montblanc pen. My parents also put a large booger, with blood, on the box of a Lacoste wallet I recently purchased (which I was planning on keeping).
In the spring of 2019, while I was a student at the University of Minnesota–Twin Cities, my parents smeared poop on the wall next to my toilet during one of their hot phases (when they are relentlessly abusing me). I called UMN that afternoon about my parents’ behavior, and they were able to get me in a private dorm room that evening! When I was a child, my mom would often tell me you know someone is crazy when one starts smearing one’s poop on someone else’s property. Make of that what you will.
As I’ve mentioned before, my parents are possibly terrorists for the Libertarian Party and the cult-like religion Eckankar. My strangler-brother, Marc Scribner, has worked for the Libertarian Party and their think tanks in Washington, D.C., and is getting married on October 22 of this year. October 22 is supposedly Eckankar’s most important date, and they call it their spiritual new year. My family has lived in Chanhassen, Minnesota, since 1993–seven years after Eckankar moved their headquarters to Chanhassen. My dad told me as recently as last year that I made Eckankar mad when I was a child, while making a paranoid and veiled threat that I am in some sort of spiritual debt to the cult-like religion (which I have never joined).
If you want to help get me out of this abusive, terroristic situation and into WITSEC, please write a succinct letter on my behalf at <https://www.whitehouse.gov/contact/>. Not all heroes wear capes.
September 23, 2022, at 6:19 a.m.
It’s been a while since I updated this article. My parents actually have left boogers probably half the days since my last update, but they were often so small I did not feel like posting them to this blog. When I tried talking to my parents after I got up this morning, they were terse and spoke in only one-word sentences, so I knew something was probably going on. When I checked my bedding, I found what I already knew would be there.
If you want to help get me out of this abusive situation and into WITSEC, please write a succinct letter on my behalf at <https://www.whitehouse.gov/contact/>. Not all heroes wear capes.
September 14, 2022, at 8:22 a.m.
September 8, 2022, at 8:01 a.m.
My parents also left a small booger on my bedding sometime between this post and the previous one, which I chose not to include here (though I did do laundry because of it).
September 5, 2022 (Labor Day 2022), at 8:30 a.m.
It looks like I’ll be doing a separate load of laundry on Labor Day.
If anyone is reading this post, please call the authorities (I live in Chanhassen, Minnesota, in Carver County); it might seem like they are not taking your call seriously, but it would have an impact. You can call Carver County’s non-emergency number at 952-361-1231.
September 3, 2022, at 8:06 a.m.
Today is the second attempt of NASA’s Artemis I launch, which is important to me. This morning, I noticed a piece of dirty jute twine (which I at least used to keep in my room) or carpeting. I decided it was not worth photographing and adding to this post. I merely picked up the object with a tissue and threw it away. But I did decide I should do laundry because of it. As I was grabbing my bed sheet (on the opposite side that I usually check for boogers), I noticed a booger near where my head would be at night, which I photographed and am adding below. If anyone is reading this post, please call the authorities (I live in Chanhassen, Minnesota, in Carver County); they might not take your call seriously, but it would still have an impact.
September 2, 2022, at approximately noon
Last night (09/01/2022), my dad–who probably should be in a wheelchair–fell down when he got to the top of the stairs near my parents’ room. My mom was not able to move my dad, and a fight broke out between them. When I walked out of my room to leave the house, my mom blocked me from leaving via the stairs and screamed at me in a threatening manner to go back to my room.
Due to my parents’ suspicious and threatening behavior, I felt it was necessary to call the Carver County Sheriff’s Office. They came over to my house and got my dad in his bed.
But after they left, my dad fell out of his bed and couldn’t get back in it. As I was watching my dad try to get into his bed, he kept reaching for an object on his nightstand. He would grab the object and then put it back–over and over again. I asked what he was grabbing, and he screamed at me and whipped his hand at me while gesticulating a pistol pointed directly at me. He even motioned pulling the trigger.
Currently, my dad has been bedridden all day for what he claims is an inability to use one of his legs. My dad has had similar problems with his legs in the past, but I don’t remember him being bedridden before. Usually, when he can’t get up the stairs, he is able to walk again within 1–2 hours. He refuses any medical treatment. As I’ve stated before, I fear for my life.
I noticed these boogers at about noon today. After I finish this update, I will get my bedding out of the dryer. H-E-L-P!
August 27, 2022, at 11:55 a.m.
Yet again, my parents put a booger on my bed sheet right where my head would go. This means I am doing laundry for my bedding three days in a row.
I will create a blog post on NicholasScribner.com later today that documents my parents’ sociopathic behavior with boogers. My Facebook profile ought to look classier. I am, after all, the smartest and most sober person in my family. I believe my dad is dyslexic (I’ve never seen him read a book) and my brother—who tried to murder me by strangulation on my dad’s 54th birthday on 12/30/2012—had lower ACT scores. My mom used to always tell me she and her friends broke into her middle school at night and accessed the files with all the students’ IQ scores; my mom always said her IQ was 149–much higher than any of the other students. This is almost certainly a bunch of malarkey. The three of them together use enough drugs and alcohol to kill a blue whale!
Note: I am no longer starting each morning with a link to a song on YouTube. It was fun while it lasted, and I hope people liked some of the songs.
August 26, 2022, at 9:37 p.m.
I just found this large booger from my parents at the foot of my bed. This happened despite me pleading to my parents today not to put boogers on my bed sheet. It looks like I’m washing my bedding again tonight. This is the fourth time in the last nine days my parents have put boogers on my bedding—including yesterday!
August 25, 2022, at 8:22 a.m.
My parents are still putting boogers on my bed sheet. This is the third time I’ve photographed them and posted them to Facebook in the last eight days. The Carver County Sheriff’s Office refuses to get involved “unless there are 100 boogers.”
August 21, 2022, at 10:54 a.m.
My parents are still putting boogers on my bed sheet.
August 17, 2022, at 7:29 a.m.
I keep having to wash my bed sheet because my parents are continually putting boogers on it.
TROPHY? Approximately six months before my dad’s 60th birthday in 2018, I surprised him with a framed photograph with the autographs of the Minnesota Vikings’ Purple People Eaters. He acted like he didn’t want it when I showed it to him and just kept it in bubble wrap on the floor of our living room.
Today, I told him I wanted to sell it on eBay, and he became aggressive. He said he would steal all my computers if I sold it. My mom said she would cut off my cell phone connection and prevent me from using our cars if I sold it.
Therefore, I decided not to sell it. I am concerned my parents are saving it as some type of trophy, since I think my brother attempted to murder me by strangulation on my dad’s 54th birthday, which was on 12/30/2012.
Sometime within the last week, I bought flags for my mom, my dad, and myself. I did this because I wanted a family photo on the Fourth of July, since I realized there weren’t any photos of my dad on this blog.
I almost forgot about my photo opportunity this evening, but luckily remembered just as my dad was about to go upstairs to his bedroom. When my dad came outside this evening for the family photo, I told him where I wanted the photo—by a tree—but he started yelling loudly at me and saying he can’t go down that far in our yard.
My dad is in a walker and likes to stay at home in the kitchen, presumably because it’s hard for him to get around. (With that said, he always liked spending most of his time in the kitchen even when he wasn’t in a walker, which basically amounts to all my life.)
Back to the story, he said he needed to be in front of my mom’s flower garden. But not only that, he insisted that he rotate his walker such that a compost bin and his old SUV in our garage are my background. Yet my parents got to have flowers as their background. When I asked if we could rotate ourselves a different way—so that the compost bin and his old SUV in our garage are not by me—my dad started crying loudly. Interestingly, he stopped crying immediately after I let him get his way.
Indeed, I acquiesced, since I wanted a photo with the flags on the Fourth of July. The photo below, which was taken by me with my smartphone, is probably the one where the compost bin and garage show up the least (my head is blocking most of it).
My dad’s T-shirt reads, “RUNNING THE COUNTRY IS LIKE RIDING A BIKE,” which is apparently a reference to President Biden falling off his bike. Most of my dad’s shirts have a political message.
In other news, I’m eight months sober. No alcohol, no nicotine, no drugs. Also, a hard pass for Delta-9 THC, which became legal in Minnesota on July 1. If everyone else in my family followed suit, many of our problems would dissipate. #NQTD
Note: The backward flag was unintentional (at least on my part).
UPDATE, 07/04/2022: Since I’m not one to end a holiday (or any day, really) on a bad note, here is a photograph of the grand finale of Chanhassen’s fireworks display at Lake Ann. I stood across the street from Paisley Park to get this photo. It’s where I was last year as well.
UPDATE, 07/05/2022: I took a portrait of just my dad this morning. Now I have recent portraits of my mom, dad, grandpa, and grandma. Although I recently visited my grandparents’ house, my dad stayed home. This portrait was taken in the same place as the photo with the flags from yesterday evening. The lighting is harsh and could have been ameliorated by using fill flash, but I currently do not have a flash for my Canon camera. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to get one.
UPDATE, 07/08/2022: While watching “The Ingraham Angle” on Fox News (with Raymond Arroyo filling in), I discovered my dad’s shirt is a reference to a video taken by a reporter named Nikki Schwab.
I just got back from the longest walk of my life. And my first marathon. In the headline, I say it was my first “unofficial” marathon because I was just walking on my own and not as part of an official event. Still, I trust the data from my Withings Pulse HR activity tracker (if anything, it underreports steps, since, in the past, I have worn a Withings and Garmin tracker at the same time to test the devices).
I did not plan this feat; rather, I decided to go for a marathon shortly after going on a walk today. I reasoned I could walk a marathon—and I was determined to do so—because I hadn’t walked in a week due to smoke from the wildfires in Canada. The weather also helped.
As the first screenshot illustrates, I started walking at 7:06 a.m. and walked for a total of 9 hours and 7 minutes. I did, of course, walk a little more than a half mile extra.
My psychology teacher from high school was also the cross country coach. I remember he once told our class that marathon runners are known to have problems finishing races. For example, I believe he said they can have diarrhea mid-race, due to the stress they put on their bodies. I did not have any problems. But, then again, I was just walking.
The closest I’ve come to my marathon today was when I walked 23.55 miles on August 27, 2020. As I say on Facebook, “I would’ve walked 26.2 miles for a full marathon, but I had eBay orders to ship.” That was a bit disappointing.
I would like to walk an official marathon someday (assuming that is something people do); but, for now, I’m content with my unofficial marathon.
Those “26.2” stickers just look so cool on a car’s rear window. Does it really matter if you were only walking? Who would know?
I seem to have run into some bad luck this holiday season. First, on December 1, I start showing symptoms of COVID-19; then, on Christmas Eve, I get pain in my gums that lasts several days; and, finally, on New Year’s Day, I get what I think are most likely hemorrhoids. What did I do to deserve all this bad fortune? I thought I had been a good person.
OK, maybe I’m to blame. I did lose 35 pounds in a little over four months. Maybe now my body is fighting back.
I had been looking forward to being slim not just for the last four months but for at least the last four years. Now I’m at my goal weight (I will write a post about my weight-loss journey soon), but it came at a price.
Still, I didn’t let these afflictions keep me from getting some nice winter photos today. After all, that is why you clicked the link, isn’t it? No, I shouldn’t have said that; my hemorrhoids are probably why you’re here. Well, I will be video conferencing with a doctor in an hour, so I will fill you in on all the salacious details. No, they won’t be examining my derrière over video. At least I don’t think that’s how it works. (Note: I will post the update after the photos.)
I’m starting to ramble. Here are the photos.
Update, 1/2/2021: I had my appointment with a physician assistant (not a medical doctor). We talked over the phone, rather than over video. Interestingly, I forgot to spend undue time making sure I had the right diagnosis, but I’m about 99 percent sure I have hemorrhoids. I’ve only had them one other time in my life—almost exactly 10 years ago—and the symptoms were the same as what I have now. I believe they went away within a week of using Preparation H, witch hazel, or a prescription (I don’t remember which).
The PA prescribed a medication, recommended fiber-rich foods, dispensed other home remedies and things to look out for, and generally answered my questions. I’m optimistic my pain will subside once I start implementing these treatments.
I’ll probably write at least one more update to this post once my body gets back to normal.
I just learned one hour ago via the web that my COVID-19 test came back positive. As noted with my positive test result, “this may sound scary, but most people who have COVID-19 can easily manage their symptoms on their own, at home.”
What follows is a chronology of what led to this point and how I felt then, feel now, and will feel over the next week or so. All updates will be added to this post.
December 1, 2020: I woke up with a sore throat. My first thought was I had strep throat, as I’ve had many times before, but I decided to wait a day before calling a doctor. I did not know a sore throat was a symptom of COVID-19. Because the weather was nice, I also went on a four-hour walk outside.
(Since I started checking my temperature every day several months ago with a Withings temporal thermometer, I will post my temperature for each day at the end of each entry.)
Temperature: 98.9 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 2, 2020: I woke up with a sore throat again. At this point, I was pretty sure I had strep throat. The first thing I did, after reading the Wikipedia article on strep throat, was call a clinic a few towns away from me because I knew they didn’t have an urgent care. I did this because I wanted to minimize my exposure to COVID-19, which I didn’t even consider I had. The receptionist told me this should be no problem and said he was going to reach out to my care team at the clinic in my hometown. He said they would be contacting me within an hour.
An hour later, I received a call from a nurse who had a grave tone. She began by asking me a series of questions, which, in my mind, was meant to screen me for COVID-19, so I could go in for a strep test. But I had it backwards. She was actually trying to determine I did not have strep throat. She then proceeded to tell me she thought it was likely I had COVID-19.
I was shocked! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, as visions of agonizing sickness passed in my mind. And death. Yes, death! I thought this was the end point for a disease that would soon spiral out of control. As I tried to maintain my composure and focus, the nurse scheduled a video appointment with a doctor within an hour or so.
There were technical problems when the doctor tried to call me for the video appointment. The clinic used Google Duo for the video appointment, and, despite following their instructions to set up the app (which was already installed on my Android smartphone), she wasn’t able to call me for about 10 minutes. Apparently, I needed to have Google Duo open on my smartphone at the time for the call to go through. Nevertheless, the doctor called me via a regular phone call, which was fine because there was no reason for the doctor to see my appearance.
The doctor had a significantly more placid tone, which was a relief. It turns out she had already been diagnosed with COVID-19 herself back in August. Like the nurse, the doctor said I likely had COVID-19 because cases had been surging recently. She told me my prognosis was “very good” because of my age and health (likely because I’ve recently lost a lot of weight—I will be posting on that soon). I was told to take 600 mg (three tablets) of ibuprofen twice a day for the sore throat. She said my sore throat was likely viral, rather than bacterial (as is the case with strep throat), because I hadn’t had much recent contact with people. While no one can say for certain where I encountered the coronavirus, it was likely from the grocery store or while going on long walks outside, as those were the only times I had recently had contact with people.
Finally, the doctor told me to schedule an appointment with a drive-up testing site at a nearby clinic for a strep and COVID-19 test. She said it might take 1–2 days to get an appointment for the tests, so I was relieved when I found out I could get in that afternoon.
Getting tested was simple and efficient, and I didn’t have to wait in line for more than a minute before someone came to get my driver’s license and confirm my identity. The COVID-19 test was first and took only seconds; the clinic worker, who wore personal protective equipment (PPE), though less PPE than I thought she’d have, simply stuck up a long Q-tip in both my nostrils before handing me a pamphlet on the COVID-19 test. Next, another worker came up to my window to give the strep test, which seemed to require a little more effort to get a sample from my throat. Again, the worker handed me a pamphlet about the strep test after finishing. I then left the clinic before the time for my original appointment, as I had gotten there early.
I got back the results of my strep test within a couple hours. It was negative, which disappointed me, because now I had to worry about the sore throat being COVID-19. I was informed that it would be 3–4 days before getting my COVID-19 test results.
Later that day, after taking ibuprofen, my sore throat stayed the same or maybe got slightly better. I couldn’t really tell. I did notice some problems with breathing, which can indicate a severe case of COVID-19, but I attributed that to anxiety, as I have a history with anxiety and panic attacks. I didn’t even contact the doctor about it, because I was pretty sure that’s all it was.
After hearing I likely had COVID-19 that morning I did, of course, make sure to isolate from my parents (whom I live with).
Temperature: 100.2 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 3, 2020: I woke up with what I thought was a more mild sore throat, which was likely being masked by the ibuprofen. Otherwise, I had a normal day. I did not notice any symptoms other than the sore throat.
Temperature: 99.5 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 4, 2020: I woke up and couldn’t really notice much of a sore throat or any other symptoms, for that matter. I decided to reach out to the doctor to find out if the ibuprofen was still necessary. Within a few hours, I heard back from my primary care physician, who told me the ibuprofen was only for symptoms and that I could stop taking it, which I did.
Temperature: 99.2 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 5, 2020: Now off ibuprofen, I couldn’t notice much, if any, of a sore throat when I woke up. I didn’t notice any other symptoms, either. In fact, I felt good—just like my regular self. I spent most of the day hoping to see my COVID-19 test results, which I now thought could be negative.
I got the news at 4 p.m. An email appeared in my inbox informing me that test results were in. The email directed me to their website, just as it did for my strep results. I was optimistic that the results would be negative because I was told I would receive a phone call if the results were positive. But my excitement soon turned to disappointment when I saw the word “detected” in the table at the top. Two lines down it read, “You’ve tested positive for COVID-19.” Man, what a bummer. After telling my parents (I actually opened the test results as I was talking to them), I went on Facebook and Twitter to post the news and to let my brother know.
And now here I am, writing this blog post. In fact, from now on these entries will be in the present tense. I must say, despite the unfortunate news today, I feel fine. Also, I feel that writing this post is therapeutic. I’m optimistic my case of COVID-19 is mild and expect a full recovery within six days (though my clinic still hasn’t called me to discuss my positive test results). I hope you find these entries as helpful as I find them therapeutic.
Temperature: 99.4 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 6, 2020: I am still not experiencing any symptoms, other than maybe a slightly noticeable sore throat when I swallow some of the time. Aside from the occasional anxiety I get, I feel like my normal self.
The clinic called me this morning to discuss my positive COVID-19 test results. The clinic employee who called me (I think it was a nurse) had a serious tone again. For example, I was told that even though I’m not experiencing symptoms now, I could still wake up in the middle of the night struggling to breathe. I was also told that, because I was diagnosed with asthma as a child, my asthma could flare up. That being said, I don’t have an inhaler and I can’t recall any time in recent history when I might have had symptoms of asthma.
But I think this person was mainly calling to make sure I, and the persons with whom I have had close contact, don’t spread the disease. I learned that anyone with whom I had close contact in the 14 days prior to my first symptom onset (which was on December 1) should self-isolate for the same period as myself (through December 11). I told the person from the clinic that I couldn’t think of anyone other than my parents. After I got off the phone, though, I remembered I had seen a dermatologist on November 19, so I sent him a message letting him know he’s instructed to self-isolate. I didn’t like the feeling of imposing on someone—or, worse, potentially spreading the disease. But I don’t think I really had much of a choice.
After I got off the phone, I got a text message that began, “Answer the Call: State and local public health department staff will be calling you with important information about your health.” I ended up getting the call shortly before 5 p.m. There was no question it was the government calling me, since the phone call appeared on my phone as “MN Public Health,” as if they were in my contacts. This call was significantly longer than the one from the clinic, lasting nearly 19 minutes. This person spent most of the time asking me questions, with an emphasis on making sure I, and the persons with whom I have had close contact, self-isolate and don’t spread the virus. For example, I was told my parents are supposed to self-isolate for 14 days after their last close contact with me. I opted in to have the interview recorded and answered all the person’s questions, even though I didn’t have to do either of those things.
It will be a long six days, as I count down the days until I can leave my self-isolation. But it will be nice to add another entry to this post at the end of each day. It’s like a surreal Advent calendar that is just oh so 2020.
Temperature: 99.6 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 7, 2020: I felt good today. No symptoms. Just five more days of hiding!
Temperature: 99.0 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 8, 2020: Again, no symptoms.
Temperature: 99.1 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 9, 2020: No symptoms.
Today, I tried out a new thermometer I ordered from Amazon. The thermometer is made by a Chinese company called Femometer, and the oral thermometer I ordered by them is the #1 Best Seller in Oral Thermometers on Amazon. I would’ve liked something by a more reputable company (preferably Target, CVS, or Walgreens), but I doubt they would have had any in stock. I actually did have a Target oral thermometer, but I just recently gave it to my mom (along with several alcohol wipes for sterilization).
Nevertheless, the Femometer seems to give reasonably valid and reliable results. In fact, I’m not sure which is more accurate, my expensive Withings temporal (forehead) thermometer or my new $7.99 Femometer oral thermometer. It was at least nice to see that when my Withings thermometer gave 100-plus-degree readings today, the Femometer was a full degree less. It seems the Femometer is always at least a fraction of a degree less than the Withings.
Since I started worrying about COVID-19 one week ago, I’d been checking my temperature multiple times each day (usually two or three times). Today, I took my temperature a total of nine times with the Withings thermometer. I did this because I was worried about treading into fever territory this afternoon. These are the temperatures I recorded today (in order): 98.6, 99.7, 99.5, 100.0, 100.2, 99.7, 99.2, 99.4, and 99.0.
Whenever I take my temperature with the Withings thermometer, I check the temperature at least a few times and try to record the median value. When I post my temperature at the end of each of these entries, I take the value recorded in the Heatmap in my Withings portal, which I believe is the highest recorded temperature for the day (or the least average temperature—a slight distinction). So, for today, that means…
Temperature: 100.2 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 10, 2020: I had a slight headache in the evening; otherwise, no symptoms. I’ve actually noticed slight headaches in some evenings recently, but I didn’t think they were worth mentioning.
One thing I had been thinking about ever since I tested positive for COVID-19 was what kind of T-shirt I would want as a souvenir for overcoming the illness. When I took a quick glance on Amazon, I didn’t like any of the offerings. I wanted something basic (no ugly COVID-19 particles) that just said “COVID-19 Survivor.”
My dad got his test results back today: negative. My mom will probably get hers back tomorrow, and I assume hers will also be negative. I think they might be disappointed by this outcome, since they were hoping they were both about to make it through asymptomatic cases of the virus and wanted the added benefit of temporary immunity.
In other news, today is my last day of isolation. My first trip outside my house tomorrow will be to McDonald’s for breakfast.
Well, there isn’t much more to say. If you’ve made it this far, I thank you for reading. It’s been nice being able to write these entries every night. It’ll also be nice to look back on this post years from now to remember what it was like to live with the virus during the pandemic. To the reader: Be safe and take care of your health; you can make it through this.
Temperature: 98.8 degrees Fahrenheit.
December 12, 2020: My mom also tested negative for COVID-19.
Yesterday, I felt motivated to clear out all the books I’ve accumulated over the years. This project was long overdue, as my books just gather dust and take up an inordinate amount of space. My bookshelf was overflowing with books, and there were books piling up in three rooms. When I stacked all the books together, I was actually surprised to see how many there were. In total, I plan to get rid of 270 books. I will begin by listing them on eBay (all individually photographed) and then see what my options are after that. I’m guessing most will be donated, which probably means they will be incinerated. But I’d rather they go to someone who wants to read them—even if that means selling for no profit.
Going forward, e-books are the only way to go. After hauling these books around and photographing them over the past two days, I must say I am glad these books are going away. I’m sick of them. While in the past I felt a sentimental connection to the books from my youth, I now consider that feeling a symptom of a hoarding disorder. There is so much stuff from my youth I need to sell or throw out. I need to stop thinking everything has sentimental value.
I’ve only tried selling books on eBay one other time, and I wasn’t very successful. This time, I photographed each book for the listings to see if that helps attract buyers, but I’m guessing the vast majority of these books won’t sell. The ones that do sell will probably go for the cost of shipping, or maybe a little more. I’m just glad they’ll go to someone who wants them.