Are modern colds more virulent? I ask because it seems as if a rhinovirus assault keeps me under the weather, and under the covers, a whole lot longer these days.
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Having a B.A. in communications puts one on the defensive since it invites greater scrutiny from others. But it also puts one on the offensive: Fighting the good fight against the decline of the Mother Tongue can be exhausting.
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Wordle. It's like that first spoonful of a turtle sundae: I sincerely wish that I could be satisfied with just a taste. But somehow that's never enough.
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A weathered 36-page booklet from my collectibles file addresses the root of many of mankind's problems: Constipation.
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"I'm not sure how we're supposed to be feeling at [our age]." That was a friend's reply to a recent check-in text in which I asked the lame old question, How're you doing? First, I chuckled, but then I got to thinking about her frank remarks on life-after-youth.
Most of us find ourselves dealing with a few new health issues after retirement. If we're lucky, it's only life-altering stuff, not life-threatening. Maybe some joint issues that affect our movements in new and mysterious ways. Or a pricy prescription that has us seriously considering Tom Selleck's reverse mortgage pitches. Or maybe we just feel like the bounce in our step has been replaced by arch support inserts.
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This morning I put on makeup for the first time in days. I have to admit, seeing my mirror reflection without eyebrows was getting a little depressing, so the Maybelline therapy was rehab for my flagging spirits as well as my sagging upper lids. The only fly in this ointment is that I have a lab appointment at a local clinic that I can't afford to postpone any longer. This requires me to leave my safe haven and mingle with humanity.
This is all so weird, so Twilight Zone-ish. Last Friday I was wondering how I should feel about forced restrictions on my activities. Today I am worrying about having to venture out to a public place. [Cue the eerie organ music.] Is the doctor's office—staffed by professionals who know all about sterilizing surfaces and containing contagions—one of the safer public places to be? Or is it one of the more dangerous, considering the walking germ factories that some waiting room patients could unknowingly embody?
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