Don't F@#k with Buddha - Karma's a S*%t

Now that I've recovered somewhat, I think I'm ready to tackle the serious subject of why I got sick. I understand the basic biology of the thing, of course, and I am a devout atheist and not in the least superstitious, but I'm also an over-thinker. It is thus unavoidable that I will search for deeper meaning in every significant (or indeed, insignificant) life event. I have two theories relating to my recent bout of flu.

The first is the karmic theory. The week before I became ill, I set aside a good half hour to deliver a well thought out and damning lecture to my friend, Wes, of which the following is the Reader's Digest Condensed version (delivered in a slightly lofty tone):

"It must be almost a year since I've been sick. I haven't had so much as a cold for months. I can't even remember when I last had a cold. YOU... YOU, on the other hand, seem to be constantly ill. You must have had about 43 colds in the last few months alone. And do you know why?" ("Why?", spoken in a cowed, high pitched, yet surprisingly manly, voice.) "Because I look after myself and you don't!"

Thus ensued several minutes of uninterrupted blustering about balanced diet, vitamins, regular sleep habits, personal hygiene and the ingestion of Guatemalan guinea pig poo to maintain good health and a shiny coat.

The upshot of all this is that, given that Wes is a Buddhist, I was really asking to be given a hefty dose of instant karma in the form of the mother of all colds.

As an un-superstitious atheist, I justify this cause and effect relationship by employing my non-supernatural, magical catch-all, the subconscious mind. That's right, my own subconscious mind punished me for being an annoying know-it-all by insisting that my body lay down its defenses, allowing me to get miserably ill with flu. I'm sure a doctor could explain the legitimate and very credible science behind this phenomena better than me, but I think you get the general idea.

Which brings me to my second theory - the cop out or avoidance theory. Again, this employs my sub-conscious mind as god-like controller of my destiny. (Most things do.)

I have a long and tragically impressive history of very bad birthdays, dating right back to early childhood and culminating with the suicide of my lover, THP, on my birthday, ten years ago. (Yeah, sorry, that one is a bummer, but it's part of the story.) Not surprisingly, I haven't really celebrated my birthday since then, but this year, I decided that it was time to reclaim the anniversary in a significant way. However, although I've been thinking about it for some time, I really couldn't come up with anything I wanted to do to celebrate the day.

And so we come to the crux of the cop out/avoidance theory. My subconscious mind told my body to lay down its defenses so that I could spend my birthday in bed, sick and miserable. Thus I would not have to follow my conscious mind's order to stop indulging in self pity and eat some goddamn cake. You can see the elegant and diabolical simplicity.

I still think Buddha has it in for me though.

Habby Birfday to Me!

Schoolin' in the Hood

I just read this disturbing news item:

"COMMERCE CITY, Colo. -- A couple fighting about which gang their 4-year-old toddler should join caused a public disturbance that resulted in the father's arrest, Commerce City police said Thursday.

"His girlfriend told police that they had been arguing about the upbringing of their son and which gang he should belong to. The teen mother, who is black, is a member of the Crips. Manzanares is Hispanic and belongs to the Westside Ballers gang, the woman said."

Here's the full article:
http://tinyurl.com/5tks2c

Naturally, reading this piece really distressed me. I mean, I haven't even thought about DK's gang affiliations yet. And she just turned seven! I'll never get her into a good gang now. While other parents were perusing glossy pamphlets from the Bloods, the Latin Kings and MS-13 and assiduously considering their choices, I was wasting my time agonising over education and enrichment.

Colours

And of course, this brings up other questions, such as: Will having my child tattooed with the gang's symbol assist her at the interview or should I wait until she gets in to avoid the possibility of costly laser surgery?; Does she need her own AK-47 or can she borrow one to begin with? and finally, Is it acceptable for gang members to carry ten stuffed dragons everywhere they go? If not, we might have a problem.

Then again, perhaps it's best not to worry. DK is a homeschooler and thus not adept at the mindless conformity that street gangs and schools tend to require for real success. She may well be doomed to a lifetime of independent free thinking.

Ponyboy of the homeschool gang

It's Sinu-tastic!

I have a really really hideous dose of the flu that developed out of a really really hideous bout of sinusitis. Ergh! Gack! I can't believe that DK remains healthy (so far). You can almost see the germs swarming on every surface.

DK has, in fact, happily spent the last day and a half of my illness in a state of neglected bliss. She has gallivanted about the house in her nightie with un-brushed hair and a Wii remote strapped permanently to her wrist and subsisted a little too cheerfully on pizza, spring rolls and garlic bread. Occasionally she ponces into the bedroom where I lie groaning and says things like "Can I change the console nickname?" "Sure!"; "I think I'll start a new game of Harry Potter" "Okay"; "My Sims have coffee beans!" "Great!". Since I finally surrendered and took to my bed yesterday afternoon, she also appears to be creating an outrageous mess wherever she goes, safe in the knowledge that, in my weakened state, I am unlikely to do more than groan at her in mild annoyance.

Having been at home and relatively isolated for a week, I have somehow lost touch with the busy, happy, positive person that is me at the end of my 34th year and am starting to feel like the sullen, bitter loner that I might have been, had I walked other roads in life. I may soon start to throw things at children who pass by the house and am thinking that it could almost be time to adopt 13 un-de-sexed cats.

I need to keep reminding myself that this flu has rendered me emotionally vulnerable and is opening the door to a sense of grey hopelessness that doesn't fit with my view of my world when I am in a state of health. I don't think that this is the best time to re-assess my relationships or my place in the world, though the undermining thoughts keep creeping in. It's quite shocking to think how little it might take to begin a process of resentful unravelling were I less aware.

I love photos, but I'm not going to let go of my pseudo-anonymity lightly. I include for your edification, however, an artist's rendering of a woman performing sinus irrigation (from the Sinu-Cleanse box).


I looked pretty much exactly the same about an hour ago, except that I actually have sinusitis and rhinitis, so I have dark shadows under my dark shadows, violently red eyes and nose and during irrigation, was retching because I accidentally squirted saline down my throat...several times. Oh, and my Alice band is pink with the words, "Bite me" embroidered on it in violet. But yeah, other than that, pretty much exactly the same.

I'm here for the gory detail

I'm here because I want to start writing again and I know that it's not so much content that counts, but habit, at least to begin with. If you write nothing, you certainly won't write anything good. If you write a page a day for a hundred days, there may well be a few gems in there towards the end. I was going to wait until I had something to say, but to hell with it... I like the mundane. I like the minutiae of everyday life. Your life; my life; his life; her life. As long as it's real and as long as our stories, taken as a whole, create a picture of us all doing our best to go somewhere. And hey, the good news is, if you don't like it, you can hit that little rearward facing arrow at the top of your screen and go find something else. Don't you just love this brave new world? So here it is, life in all its gory detail...