Getting sick in early March of 2020 was unnerving. First came the fatigue and headaches, followed by wildly swinging body temperatures, head congestion, and finally the cough accompanied by a persistent tickle in my upper chest. Days were spent blankly staring at the television playing House Hunters International (a comfort program) and spooning one of my three cats. Stacks of clean shirts and pants sat next to my bed to offer quick relief from the clothes I would inevitably sweat through when my body temperature rose. I was sick with something—what exactly I still don’t know. The two weeks following brought with it a shutdown of the university I attend and city I currently call home. It was at this time, the international spread of COVID-19, that I buried myself in Sometime Kin: Layers of Memory, Boundaries of Ethnography...

You do not currently have access to this content.