ChatGPT and Me, Don’t Wanna Go Syndrome

I use ChatGPT now for several daily things, including keeping a log of specific symptoms and just general things I’ll forget quickly. Maybe the most useful, though, is dumping a PDF of a looooong paper on the results of research/testing. I upload and three seconds later GPT pumps out a nice summary. It’s the coolest thing.

A recent one was fascinating, and it’s in the Covid news a lot lately. It has to do with what’s called “sickness behavior,” considered an evolutionary trait of energy conservation. When our bodies are fighting an illness, we get brain fog, lethargy, weakness, fatigue: If you had a symptomatic Covid infection, you know this well.

Again, it’s designed to re-direct energy to the immune system. Fevers are the same thing, of course — the bug isn’t raising our internal temperatures; it’s all the effort made to fight the infection.

I’ve got a switch stuck on “ON.” The virus, or a fragment of the virus, eluded my immune system, snuck into a hidey-hole, and stayed there, being quiet but shedding the occasional molecule, enough to cause my defense mechanisms to stay on high alert.

Or, you know. That’s what I’ve taken away from all these papers and articles and research projects. Viral persistence seems to be the culprit in all of these post-infection conditions, not just long Covid. A burglar isn’t tripping my alarm system, in other words; it’s just a mouse or some other tiny critter, not causing harm, but that damn bell keeps ringing.

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Julie bought tickets a few weeks ago to see Paul Simon. She’s been listening to his latest “Seven Psalms” and the timing was right.

John’s going with her. Up until yesterday it was going to be me, but I woke up with an almost overwhelming sense of dread, along with just a lot of discomfort, and this concert suddenly loomed.

It’s fine. Julie gets it; everybody gets it. It’ll be great for John to get out, and he’ll have a great time.

There’s no regret here, just a little sadness. I really don’t care to take comfort from the status quo, but damn. I have literally no ability to see the future anymore. I know the gardeners are coming tomorrow to clean up my yard. I assume the contractor’s team will be here too, finishing up our basement.

I know NFL is starting and MLB is getting serious. I know that kind of stuff. But what I’ll be doing tomorrow? I can’t see it. Honestly. I live only in the moment; I can’t seem to do anything else To .

I’m not huge fan of concerts, nor was I when I was younger. The last time was Willie Nelson a few years ago, at Marymoor Park (outdoor setting). Willie does quick shows and it was a blast to see him, but that’s really my speed.

I’m not a huge fan of Paul Simon, either; he’s just a soothing voice from my past, although I do listen to him a lot (Graceland gets a lot of play). It’s OK. Everything is OK.

How long can I be OK with OK? As I said, I can’t see that far ahead. I just know that once I wouldn't have missed this. This is one of the most bizarre symptoms I have, although I’m not sure symptom is right. My brain just resists things, and I can’t really do anything about it.

If I think about watching a movie, my brain shuts the thought down. I don’t know why. Same thing with music — sometimes I can only listen for a few minutes before it just bugs me for some reason. It honestly feels protective and so far I’m willing to accept it as part of this whole stupid process; I do what I can, and can’t do anything else. You can ask all you want.

In a way, it’s like a panic attack. I’ve had them. If you’re someone who really is uncomfortable flying, and you’re sitting at the gate and it’s getting worse, at some point you’ll just know and accept — no way you’re getting on the plane, let the chips fall.

Like that? Sort of. As I said, bizarre. I may have to listen to Seven Psalms tonight.