I Have A Head Cold

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I have a head cold??!  WTF!!  How in Hell did that happen?

We have spent much of the last two years avoiding COVID.  In doing so, we have evaded most of the normal infections – colds and seasonal flu.  We (well, most of us) have worn masks, and sometimes plastic gloves.  We have remained at least six feet from others in public.  Canada, being the second-largest country in the world not currently invading the Ukraine, has enough room for polite Canadians to stay two whole metres from each other.

We have used antiseptic wipes and sprays on shopping carts and baskets.  We have doused our hands in pump-disinfectants.  My hands have absorbed more alcohol than I have.  I fear that the human race may die out, because the next generation will be sterilised.

The wife reluctantly admitted that she may have caused this.  She had to.  She was already complaining, two days before she gave it to the son, who graciously shared it with me two days later.  She feels that she might have been confused and misled by the relaxation of local mask mandates, into subconsciously thinking that COVID’s over, and not doing her due diligence, and sterilizing a cart that had been ridden in by someone’s snotty-nosed kid.

The son coughed himself awake all night.  The next day he was woozy and tired, not a good condition to be in while driving a forklift.  He called work to report an absence.  The HR Health Manager accepted that it was not COVID, but still didn’t want the rest of the shop infected, and enforced a five-day suspension – Thursday, Friday, fortunately Saturday and Sunday, and Monday.  When he called on Tuesday, his voice was still husky, and HR told him to take another day off.  He worked his Wednesday shift, and will work Thursday, and get Friday off with pay – a tough two-day week.

Like the son, the worst of the cold is not the aching head or scratchy throat – it’s the lack of sleep.  Two coughing people in the same bed means that neither of them gets any rest.  I’ve been dozing in the recliner and on the couch.  I just can’t wake up.  I could get up if there were a fire – in my pants.   😳

How quickly we forget how tough things can be.  We had a half-hour power outage Monday night, and had to talk to each other, because all the electronics were dead.  I complained that I had no shoes – until I met a man who had no feet.  I will have a Fibbing Friday post for tomorrow – hope to see you then.  😀

Dangerous Addiction

philosopher

It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then to loosen up. Inevitably though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker.

I began to think alone – “to relax,” I told myself – but I knew it wasn’t true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time.

I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don’t mix, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau and Kafka.

I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, “What is it exactly we are doing here?”

Things weren’t going so great at home either. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She just glared at me and then stalked out and spent that night at her mother’s.

I soon had a reputation as a heavy thinker. One day the boss called me in. He said, “Archon, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don’t stop thinking here at work, you’ll have to find another job.” This gave me a lot to think about.

I came home early after my conversation with the boss. “Honey,” I confessed, “I’ve been thinking…”

“I know you’ve been thinking,” she said, “and I want a divorce!”

“But Honey, surely it’s not that serious.”

“It is serious,” she said, lower lip aquiver. “You think as much as college professors, and college professors don’t make any money, so if you keep on thinking we won’t have any money!”

“That’s a faulty syllogism,” I said impatiently, and she began to cry.

I’d had enough. “I’m going to the library!” I snarled as I stomped out the door.

I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with NPR on the radio and ran up to the big glass doors…. they didn’t open. The library was closed.

To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night.

As I sank to the ground clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. “Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?” it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker’s Anonymous poster.

Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was “Porky’s.” Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting.

I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed… easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking.

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To that I say, “What the hell, one little thought can’t hurt you.” Careful brother, one little thought can lead to another.