I Wrote This At 4am Sick With Covid (2026)
They say that creativity strikes at the most unexpected times. Usually, that’s a metaphor. Tonight, it is a biological imperative. I cannot sleep. I cannot breathe through my nose. The Mucinex is fighting the NyQuil in a gladiatorial arena inside my stomach, and the resulting energy is a weird, vibrating hum that demands to be typed out.
To anyone else who might be reading this from their own corner of isolation, perhaps also staring at a screen in the middle of the night because their body refuses to rest: you are not alone. The fever will break, the congestion will clear, and the sun will eventually come up. i wrote this at 4am sick with covid
When you’re in the thick of it, time loses all meaning. The days bleed into nights, marked only by the interval between doses of Tylenol. At 2:00 PM, you’re convinced you’re turning the corner. By 4:00 AM, the "COVID brain" takes over, and you find yourself staring at a crack in the ceiling, contemplating the structural integrity of your life. They say that creativity strikes at the most
And you write.
I wrote this at 4am sick with covid. And if you are reading this under similar circumstances— I see you. You are not alone. And this, too, shall pass. I cannot sleep
The sky outside is finally turning a faint, dusty blue, signaling the slow approach of morning. The birds are beginning their early chatter, and soon, the rest of the world will wake up and resume its noisy, energetic routine.
