Around this time of year when everyone is catching the winter flus and colds you start to see a lot of blog posts about the humanity of the common bug. Long winded essays on the common threads we shared in kleenex and sudafed abound. A lot of people choose to point out the way even the greatest titans can be laid low by the same bug that afflicts the poor. Some point out that the simplification of a sick-life (one where you spend your thinking-time thinking about getting some juice and nyquil) is a welcome relief opposed to our over-thinking, over-working, over-reaching exsistence in this cold western civilization.
And it's all bull.
There is nothing profound in getting sick. There's still less pro-founded-ness in being sick. There is nothing beautiful and deep in the way my nose has become more blocked than the Holland Tunnel at rush hour - and sounds worse too.
There is nothing attractive or comforting in my need to slam my face on the desk of my cubicle every twenty minutes just to feel the cool plastic-covered particle board on an otherwise burning cheek.
There is definitely nothing humanizing in the way I consider not washing my hair in the morning just cause I don't have the strength to standing in the shower that long. If anything that makes me go back a few steps on the evolution ladder.
No the only deep thing about being sick is the deep pile of tissues I'm amassing and the deep piles of work I'm avoiding.
So ther....achoo.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
1 comment:
"No the only deep thing about being sick is the deep pile of tissues I'm amassing"
Here, here! So totally true. It's sad when your only bed companion is a roll of tp, because the soft tissues are long gone, and the quilted northern is all that's left...
Post a Comment