The CDC is sounding the alarm on yet another variant, BA.3.2, nicknamed “Cicada.” While the CDC is just trying to make sure we’re aware this thing is making the rounds, Lubbock is handling the news with its trademark “if I can’t see it, it’s not there” energy. Local health officials claim there’s “no record” of the strand here yet, which is a bold statement considering we aren’t actually checking the wastewater like some of those fancy Texas counties. In fact, with how little sequencing is happening in the real world, saying Cicada hasn’t arrived in the Hub City is like saying there are no cops on I-27 just because you’ve got your eyes closed.
Besides, we all know the drill by now. Telling a Lubbockite to “stay home if you’re sick” is like telling a dust storm to be polite—it’s just not in our DNA. We’ve collectively rejected masks, social distancing, and basically any mitigation effort that doesn’t involve deep-frying something. We’ve managed to remain a consistent hotbed for infections, turning those tracking maps a deep, vibrant blue while everything else in this town stays stubbornly red.
The “expert” advice we’re getting is equally top-tier: wash your hands and cover your mouth. It’s 2026, and we’re still treating an airborne virus like it’s a middle school case of the cooties. Hand sanitizer isn’t going to stop a respiratory pathogen, but hey, at least your hands will be clean while you’re rolling the dice on that 10% chance of developing Long COVID. Every infection is a gamble with your long-term immune system, but in a town that loves a good “everything is fine” narrative, why not bet the house on a virus named after a bug?
If the symptoms are “mild” but the long-term damage is a permanent coin toss, is it really a “slight uptick,” or just Lubbock’s latest way of proving we’re “built different” (mostly out of scar tissue)?
