I got my second covid booster shot yesterday. If you knew what a chickensh*t I am when it comes to needles, you'd recognize how much courage it took for me to roll up my sleeve for the first vaccine. The thought of that long needle piercing deep into my flesh . . . {{{shiver}}}. But, as it turned out, dreading the shot was worse than the actual shot, and so when the time came to get the first booster, I marched fearlessly into the drug store. As I did yesterday.
But it was a different person who administered yesterday's shot. The actual puncture wasn't bad, but then when she pushed the plunger to inject the medicine, it felt like she leaned her whole weight against the syringe. I squeaked out an involuntary cry and gave her a withering look.
My arm hurt for the rest of the day, and today it's so sore that it hurts to pick up my coffee cup.
I shall not return to that store if a future booster shot is necessary!
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The plan for this weekend was to finish planting the garden, but we got another big rain yesterday, so the odds of working in the garden are slim.
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