Something shifted in my reality in early June 2026. June 7th, to be exact. I was working an afternoon‑into‑evening shift, the one I always call “the closing shift,” because honestly… that shift has been the catalyst for so much of my workplace nuance and identity work this past year. Being a part‑time sushi cook and prep worker in a new city, in a new state, has been its own kind of character arc. But that night, something else was happening. I started feeling that familiar “under the weather” sensation. The kind where you pause mid‑task and think, Dang… am I getting sick? There were no symptoms yet. No proof. Just this faint malaise, like my body was moving through molasses while the rest of the world stayed on normal speed. It was so subtle I thought I was imagining it. But as the evening went on, the feeling got louder. This was the onset of a cold virus. Cue the downward spiral saxophone solo. Thankfully, I had Monday and Tuesday off. Being new to food service, a role I landed in ...