Not Quite a Neural Flatline

It’s very difficult to get much done when one is caught between the choices of throat pain, constant cough, thick-headed phlegminess and a slight reduction of all at the cost of the complete loss of higher reasoning ability. 

Cold or cold medication, neither leaves me with much ability to write.  Fortunately for submitters, I managed to get through a good deal of my assigned readings on both reading boards on which I sit before my brain took a plunge into utter uselessness.  What little rationality I have left has been spent judging essays, short fiction, poems, and pictures for From the Fallout Shelter and the South Central Pennsylvania Writing Awards.

I’ve been preoccupied, though I do apologize for the lapses.

I’ve been sick since just after annual gift giving and dismembered tree day.  I was getting better but then I went to D.C. and got much worse.  I’m well aware of the district’s corrupting aura, but to be so thoroughly afflicted after just one day seems a bit much.

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Each swallow is a somewhat like forcing broken but unchewed bits of pretzel down my throat and Eustachian canals.  It’s an amazing sensation that inspires near transcendent levels of pain, though part of my philosophical detachment assuredly comes from my attempts at treating the pain with pain relievers and alprazolam. 

I’m pretty sure I’ve conjunctivitis.  It’s hard to tell.  When one researches his symptoms he gets the worst cases most immediately as the worst cases are what people most often investigate.  Search engines’ algorithms are skewed toward the catastrophic.

The CDC‘s site was especially unhelpful:

"And if someone develops conjunctivitis during an outbreak of viral conjunctivitis, this would be a sign that he or she might have viral conjunctivitis."
- CDC

Well, thanks for that.  I’ve a much better idea of things now.


School starts tomorrow and it’s possible we’ll have a delay.  I’d love it if we did.  I can’t see my way to missing the first day of classes but were this any other time of the semester I’d already have disabled my alarm.  If ice closes the campus I can have my cake and gingerly nibble at it too. 

In all honesty, I’m looking forward to this semester, it is my last as an undergrad.  I’ll most likely need to take a year off, assuming that I have missed grad school applications, but at the very least I’ll go from being eleven years behind (high school graduate) to seven years behind (college graduate).  Since most don’t go to college and even fewer go on to grad school, I hope to finally feel I’ve caught up with my peers by the completion of my M.A. / M.F.A. / PhD. or combination thereof.  That or to inherit a subsistence farm suitably far away from large doses of humanity.  I’d be equally happy with either life, that of an ivory tower wizard or that of a dirt farmer.


Things to come:

  • Potting the airplane plantlets (there are suddenly a great many)
  • Starting herbs for the winter harvest
  • Taking rose cuttings from the antique shrub
    • Followed by my first foray into wide-scale cloning
  • Finishing my judgments on others writing so that I can return to my own
  • Gallery openings!
  • Writing contests!
  • Plant offices!

Stay tuned.

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