How long can this flu go on? Do you think it's the BIG one -- the flu to end all flus -- and all of humanity? I sure hope not. I have things to do, like go to a dinner tonight with five fabulous females, and rake up the dog's winter leftovers from the back yard, and decide whether to paint the upstairs' floor (okay, subfloor) or leave it until I find the $6,000.00 I need to redo it completely. And now I can't find the battery charger -- the one for my camera. Not that I have a battery charger for anything else, oh no, not prudish me. I can't even begin to imagine walking into a sex shop, let alone buying a toy. And why are they called toys? Doesn't that sound somewhat arrested? Or is it because I could be arrested? "Drop whatcher holdin' and putcher hands on the counter. Real high, soze I can seez 'em."
See where the flu takes me? It isn't pretty.
I'm not planning on taking any snapshots tonight. I like to remember events in my head, although I have to confess that the advent of digital cameras has altered my purist/ic senses to the degree of about 3000 photos per year -- too many of them pictures of cats, however...speaking of pussies. Okay, so that's just plain rude. Don't I know it? But it's the fault of the flu and where it takes me -- to silliness, bad TV movies and Cheesies.
What was it Darwin said about survival of the fittest? What is it, then, we're not all adapting to? This over-populated planet? Climate change? Processed foods? Smog-ridden cities? Underwire brassieres? I think I need to re-read Jared Diamond, despite (I think I mean because of) how scary it all is. In fact, I think Jared Diamond is far braver than, say, Ben Stein, who needs to relegate everything to a Higher Power (see yesterday's entry on proper nouns). Mind you, anyone who has ever voted from the (dis)advantage of the Republican party makes me a little bit nervous, and my knees are shaky enough as it is. "Stop shakin' yer knees, yer bum cheeks is flappin' like free-floatin' zeppelins."
Whatever the answers are or are not, I am on my 17th round of this thing. From guts to feet to brains, my body is screaming in protest -- Help me! -- and my poor tired fingers keep crawling into the potato chip bag because it's the only thing handy. In the meantime, I am trying to figure out the correct wine-drinking:germ-killing ratio. One glass would surely kill off at least part of this bug, but 12 glasses might be overdoing it. I can't decide. But I can promise you one thing -- if I make it through to tomorrow, I'll let you know.
The strongest man in the world is the man who stands alone. Thomas Huxley
