July 9, 2007
Heady stuff, this! Scary. Makes my chest tighten up while at the same time makes me feel like a citizen again.
The responsibilities aren’t a big problem because even when we rented we usually took care of all that ourselves. Being grownups, it seemed sort of …… I’m searching for a word here …… childish to go running to someone else to fix every little thing that came along. I realize that your landlord is responsible for doing all of those things, however, it just seemed silly to take the time and effort to call him from (possibly) more pressing things when we could just as easily fix it ourselves and get it done right and right now! We knew it was right because WE did it. Plus, you always get a little cred if you let them know that there was a small problem, but that you fixed it and they didn’t have to bother. Having said this, always make sure that you DO fix it and fix it right. Otherwise you leave yourselves open to all kinds of bad things happening down the road at the most inopportune times.
We have been incredibly lucky with the landlords we’ve had since we moved out of the house I used to own with my ex, Ol Pencil Dick, hereinafter to be referred to as OpeeDee.
Our landlords have all been business owners, who by their very nature squeeze a nickel so hard the buffalo poops are very cost concious. So we were always allowed to fix whatever we wanted to and just take the costs off of the rent. That way, we didn’t have to wait for them to arrange for someone cheap and crappy of their choosing to come around when they sobered up could fit us into their schedule.
From now on, though, WE will be the homeowners! Hot doggies! I’m stoked. I’m in the zone. I’m ready. I’m already thinking of seceeding from the Union. I think I shall start my own nation. I’ll have four acres. That’s a good amount. Not big enough to draw attention, yet large enough for a garden and some chickens. I can mint my own currency. I’ll restrict my airspace. We’ll be a dictatorship. Benevolent, of course. Now all I have to do is decide on what to call it. Bite Me Land. Kiss My Foot If You Don’t Like It -erica? I’ll have to put some more thought into it.
Woman’s definition of homeownership: I can paint the walls any color I want!
Man’s definition of homeownership: I can piss off of the back porch if I want!
Hint: Don’t piss off of the back porch. That’s just nasty.
Okay, time to go put on my game face. It’s paper signing time. My Dearest Husband says I’m not allowed to go in there smiling like a goon. Not until after we’re done with all the John Hancocks. THEN I can smile like a goon. 🙂 Which I will faithfully do…..for quite sometime. Until the roof leaks, or the septic tank needs to be pumped, or the shower starts leaking into the wall behind everything, or or or OMG *gasp* ….anyone got a Valium I could borrow????
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Posted by thought4food
June 8, 2007
Teenagers ………….. *sigh* …………….. nuf said.
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Posted by thought4food
June 6, 2007
Buddha came wandering in the room Sunday evening about 7:00 pm with the news that he had been throwing up all day and his legs were cramping and his stomach hurt. You may think that the fact that I was so far behind on this information means that I don’t pay attention. Let me disabuse you of this notion.
First of all, Buddha is secretive in his personal habits in the extreme. He got this way when he was living at home. I’m not sure exactly what survival instinct led him to that particular behavior, but you will almost never catch him doing anything in the way of personal habits at all. He does do all those things like brush his teeth, take a bath, use the toilet, etc. He just does it all on the sly.
Second, his sister is the twin of the Tasmanian Devil. Being in her proximity is like being inside of a tornado that consists of blond hair and tiny bits of paper and chap stick and fingernail polish and puppies and shards of glass and blue eyes and bug juice and questions and clothes and makeup and arguments and chewing gum and an incessant stream of words and movement. It’s hard to see past her sometimes.
Also, on the weekend, His Highness The Buddha, does not like to be disturbed when he is resting. So I leave him to his own resources to decompress and do as he pleases unless I hear screaming or see blood pooling underneath his bedroom door. Flames, smoke, the sound of breaking glass……these will also capture my attention.
So, he tells me that he had been throwing up since morning. *sigh* I figure he’s dehydrated. I give him water with a few grains of salt. It all comes up immediately. I smell a trip to the ER coming up. I pack up the Tasmanian Devil, a few waiting room supplies, and Buddha. Off we go to the ER for a quick IV of fluids to re-hydrate him and then we’ll be home and that will be that.
Not so much.
After about a gallon of drawn blood, about three gallons of IV fluids drained into him, a multitude of tests, and a CAT scan, we find out that he has appendicitis. Wow. Into the hospital he is admitted. The surgeon will be there in the morning to talk about what we will do.
(insert ominous music here) The surgeon comes in and tells Buddha that he must have the appendix out. The instant Buddha realizes what the means he says, “Cut me?!! OH NO! I’m outta here!” It’s everything we can do to keep him in the bed. We talk and cajole and do everything but chase him down the hall and tie him to the bed. By this time his belly is hurting him considerably. We convince him that having the surgery will make his belly feel better and he finally agrees. Whew!
It all happens quite quickly. He’s in surgery in a matter of minutes. They tell us he’ll be back in an hour and a half, be in the room. When they bring him back up, he’s awake. I ask how he’s feeling. He rares up on the bed and yells, “THEY CUT ME AND IT HURTS!!” We kinda forgot in all the excitement to tell him that the surgery was going to hurt pretty bad right at first. Our bad. *grimace*
Once he was in bed and settled and the morphine set in, he informed me that people who were in the hospital get presents. He would accept a video game, thank you. Then whenever anyone called or came by, he would dutifully inform them of the same thing complete with his order. I figure that he’s already calculated what his appendix was worth.
By the time he’s fully recovered, I’m going to have to watch out on eBay because he’ll be trying to sell his kidney for a Volkswagen. A cornea for the downpayment on his college tuition. 😦 *sigh*
He’s home and feeling fine. He disappeared from the couch about two hours after we got him home. My Dearest Husband went looking for him, he wasn’t in the house. Bella said he was up the drive. Um…….up the drive??? Yeah, she says, riding his bike. We walk out on the porch and sure enough, he comes slowly riding back down the driveway. Just over twenty-four hours after his surgery. We’re standing there with our bottom jaws resting on the tops of our shoes, staring at him. He says, “What?”
Kids, ya gotta love em.
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Posted by thought4food
June 5, 2007
I think about this today from the other perspective. From the point of view of the person who is not raising their own child.
I have to preface this by saying that I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. Luckily that has never stopped me before, so here I go.
For those of you who haven’t read this blog before I am raising two of my grandchildren. I also have an adopted daughter, who is my husband’s natural daughter. Hence, other people’s children. They are all children of my heart, and I couldn’t love them one bit more if I had carried them all for the full nine months plus one more just for good measure. But, none the less, they are still other people’s children and they all know it.
They all have mothers elsewhere and they love them and miss them very much.
I can’t imagine how much their mother’s must miss them as well. I have been lucky enough to have been connected to two extraordinary women who had the love and strength to allow me to raise their children. It’s an incredible thing and I’m not sure either one of them realize that.
They both signed papers deliberately that allowed me to be a co-parent with them. I’m not sure that’s how they saw it. I’m afraid that in those dark hours before the morning light, that wasn’t how they explained it to themselves at all. I fear that they told themselves a far different story. I wish they could have seen themselves through my eyes during those times.
What they would have seen would probably have surprised them. Because they are heros to me. These are women who loved their children more than they loved themselves. They put themselves in the position to tell themselves those things in the dark of night when there wouldn’t be anyone there to tell them different. What I see when I look at them are two of the strongest women on earth. They are shining lights. I hope their children see them that way when they are grown and look back.
I hope they can see what a sacrifice of self, of heart, of hope their mother’s made so that they could have a better chance in life. I got the easy part out of it. I’m the one who got to be here. They got the hard part. They aren’t here everyday to see what goes on. They get bits and pieces. They have to try to make a whole picture out of random puzzle pieces from several different puzzles from different time periods. No matter how much you tell them, it can never be enough.
They took from themselves every holiday, every birthday, every Mother’s day, all those special moments. And they did it for the love of their children. That is the most massively unselfish thing I can imagine. The scope of it is hard to comprehend.
The idea of the pain that they caused themselves is almost impossible to imagine. And yet they did it. And they didn’t walk away afterwards. I think this, to me, is the most awe inspiring part. They stayed as close as they could. They call, they send things. Sometimes they come to visit.
The awkwardness, the sadness, the hurt this must cause has to be enormous. But they do it for the love of their children. I am humbled. I wish sometimes that I could give them my eyes to see through so that they could see themselves the way I see them. I wish that I could give to them the sense of pride in themselves that I feel in them.
But more than anything, I wish that they could know themselves as the heros they are for putting the lives of their children first. They are remarkable women. I admire them both.
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Posted by thought4food
May 24, 2007
I see hand sanitizer all over the place now. People are fanatically clean these days. Times have changed since I was a kid. We never really thought about that kind of stuff when I was young.
Don’t get me wrong, we had to wash our hands before we ate. We had to take our bath. Occasionally an aunt or someone (usually Southern) would make a comment about being able to “grow taters in those ears” to one of my male relatives. But hand sanitizer in travel sized bottles? *giggle* Not hardly.
As a matter of fact, I had an older cousin whose mother kept him so clean when he was young that he got sick. His doctor finally told his mom that she had to let him go outside and get dirty. She was not to clean him up! He was to get dirty and stay that way until evening and only then was she to bathe him! It was excruciatingly hard on her, but she did it for his sake. He got better….physically. Funny thing, he ended up crazy as a bed bug. But that is neither here nor there. (Yes, it does run in the family, smart aleck!)
My grandson, Buddha, used to be such a neat freak that when I gave him a sloppy joe for lunch he couldn’t eat it! He would pick it up, get sauce on his hand, put it down, wipe off his hand, pick it up, get sauce on his hand, put it down, …….you get the idea. Finally, I took pity on the poor little thing, cut it up and gave him a spoon. Sheesh! (Now, he could grow taters in those ears *wink*)
When I was coming up, those things never came into consideration. If they had, we would have never eaten a Louie burger. At this point it is my duty to warn any of you with a weak stomach not to read further. Mom, this means you.
Louie lived and worked next door to the service station that my dad was part owner of. We would go down to “help” dad at the station and he would send us next door for a burger. Louie and his wife, I never knew her name, lived and worked at their house. Louie cooked burgers on the stove in his kitchen. They were GREAT burgers. They were locally famous. Everyone went to Louie’s for a burger on a regular basis. This was good because at some point Louie apparently had a stroke or something and this is how Louie and his wife made their living. His wife would take the orders, give them to Louie, who would shuffle back to the kitchen and cook them, and his wife would chat with you up front until he shuffled back with your greasy bag. Louie couldn’t talk. His wife knew what he meant when he made his noises, but no one else did. She would tell you Louie said thank you and come back again. I used to wonder if Louie was actually saying something that ended in “and the horse you rode in on”, but who could tell?
The reason I believe that Louie had a stroke is that Louie shuffled when he walked and he had this other little thing that he did that was kinda telling. He drooled. Yeah, I know, right? Louie probably kept the handkerchief people in business because I never one time in my whole life ever saw Louie without one. He held them up to his chin to catch the drool. But the handkerchiefs were never wet. It was Louie that cooked. Not Mrs. Louie. Louie cooked. Hopefully with one hand.
Weren’t no hand sanitizer going on in Louie’s kitchen, I can tell you that. And no one ever thought one thing about it. It makes my mom gag when we talk about it now. Louie and his wife wouldn’t have a prayer of making a living on their own now. They’d have to depend on Social Security and Alpo now-days. But back then, they were independent and self sufficient. Proud people with a product to sell that people wanted and liked.
Maybe it was the drool that made Louie’s burgers taste so good?
OK, I’ll stop. My mom says I take this one too far.
We didn’t have flesh eating virus in those days. Or Ebola. And if we did, it was very well contained. We didn’t have AIDS, or Hanta Virus or HIV, or any of the new stuff that’s come along lately. There weren’t as many people in the world back then and mother nature wasn’t trying so hard to thin the herd.
We had stronger immune systems then. And the generation before us had even stronger ones. But, I digress.
I probably wouldn’t buy a burger from Louie today. But not for the reason you might think. It would just be too creepy to buy a burger from a 160 year old guy who’s too dried out to drool but who keeps on holding that dang old white handkerchief under his chin! Yuck!
Note to self: Nice girls don’t blog after they’ve taken their meds! Think about it!
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Posted by thought4food
May 18, 2007
I used to sing. I was pretty good at it. My ex played guitar with several bands and we were together for 10 years before he ever heard me sing. I never sang in front of people in those days, so I really did sing like nobody was listening because …..nobody was. I think it’s fair to say he was pretty much stunned when he heard it the first time.
It was on a tape player. (Can you say “LONG TIME AGO?????) I had been messing around with a new song I had heard and I forgot to erase it. He heard it by accident. He asked who in the hell that was. I said it was me. He didn’t believe me for one second because as far as he knew I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Eventually he got me drunk enough to sing in front of him and prove it was me.
Back in the day we always had music. Everything was accompanied by music. People coming over to hang out always brought guitars, amps, harmonicas and whatever other instruments they had and we jammed. We went to other people’s houses and played. It was alright. And, back in the day, we had beer. I’ll be kind to my momma and leave it at that. So, we started gettin me all drunked up and I started to sing with them.
They came to the conclusion that I sounded like a cross between Stevie Nicks and Bonnie Raitt. With a slight quiver. That was pure terror. There was not enough alcohol invented to take that away. But they gave me songs and booze and I sang. Then one evening out in someone’s barn a sneaky varmint turned on a hidden tape recorder and taped me singing. A few weeks later we were at another guys house hanging out and playing. When I started to sing a song he jumped up and hollered, “You’re the girl on the tape!” I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about.
You have to remember that: 1. I was drunk. 2. I didn’t know about the tape.
So he played it and sure enough it was me. Have you ever heard yourself on tape? I really can’t stand it. I don’t mind hearing myself through my own ears inside of my head, but I hate hearing it from outside in. I almost spit up. But they all seemed to love it. So they hatch this plot. The guy who managed the local newspaper at the time was having a Christmas party at his house and had asked the guy who’s house we were at to get together a band and play at it.
Now I’m really thinking I shouldn’t have had those last couple of beers. They want me to sing. In front of people. A bunch of people. Maybe I’ll rethink that beer thing and just have a few more. Cuz those guys are really excited and happy and wanting this to happen. And deep inside of my alcohol induced haze I’m kinda thinkin this might be kinda cool, too. If I can keep from spitting up, that is.
So we practice. We practice a lot. We practice and we practice and I sing and I sing. I’m well on my way to becoming a raging alcoholic. Because there is no way on God’s green earth that I can sing in front of anyone without it. I’ve only been singing in front of my ex for about 3 or 4 months at this time. But it feels good to have people telling me that I can do something well. And everytime we practice more and more people show up to watch us. It’s all really new and exciting.
So, the fateful evening comes. Let me set the stage for you.
This was about 25 years ago. I was young and hot as a two dollar pistol. Long wavy chestnut brown hair, slender, an ass that looked like two puppies fighting under a blanket when I walked. They get me there and we’re in the back room. It’s almost time to go out. The plan is to keep me in the back of the group until it’s time for me to sing. That way I can get used to the atmosphere and I won’t be so nervous. They brought me a bottle of gin. All the quicker to schnocker you with, my dear. And I knocked that baby back as fast as I could.
Then we went out to the stage. It gets a little hazy around here. There were many people, pretty lights, music, clinking, talking, and then they brought me to the front and set me on a stool and started playing my music. I think I had my eyes closed because I was ok at first. I just started to sing and I was having fun for the first few lines. Then I noticed that it was very quiet in that place. I opened my eyes. Everyone was standing there with their drinks in their hands and they were all looking at me! I immediately stopped singing. I thought I had messed up really bad. I turned around and looked at the guys in the band. They said, “Keep singing, they love it!!”
I turned around and looked at all those faces again and they were nodding their heads yes! Holy Crap! The band started playing again and so I started singing again. They sang with me and they clapped and sometimes they just stood there and listened to me. It was probably the most incredible thing ever. I sang every song we practiced. Somewhere along the line I forget the rest of what happened. It all just sort of melts into one big good ol time.
We played alot of other places and I got to sing alot of other times. It was always a big surprise to me. And it always felt really great. But that first time will always be my favorite. I don’t do that anymore. But, once upon a time, long long ago………
I used to sing.
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Posted by thought4food
May 15, 2007
I have recently been subjected to , and by extension subjected a dear friend to, Tacky Behavior On The Part Of People Who Should Know Better. Now, I have been around this kind of trashy behavior all my life and I’m tired of putting up with it.
In my younger more feisty days I would have put the gloves on and gone hunting down the offending trashites, looking for some much deserved justice out of their persons in some shape or manor, preferably involving bruising. However, as I am older and slightly calmer now, I will wait for a bit, let things settle down , and find the right time for the information to come out.
You see, I myself take part of the blame for this trailer-park tinged behavior. I accepted an invitation from a secondhand person to an event. And since my radar isn’t in proper working order anymore, I completely missed the significance of that little faux pas. However, knowing the inviter like I do, I had to believe that it was ok to accept, as he has always been one of the most considerate and honorable men I know. Therefore, when I was asked to invite a friend, I had no qualms about inviting a very, very good friend who is tenderhearted and a LOT of fun to be around. We would go together, meet the rest of the group, and have a rip roarin good time at a few slightly raunchy places, thereby having stories to tell the grand-kids later that would make them blush and look at us in new and exciting ways! It would all be good.
NOT! We were excluded from the beginning. It was rude to the point of ruthlessness. It would have been kinder to have just told us after dinner that we wouldn’t be included in the rest of the festivities planned for the evening and so thank you for coming to the dinner and we’ll see you at the wedding. Instead we were to follow the other two cars to a hotel and join them in a room that had been reserved. We were out of the car and following them across the parking lot when they hit the door. As we got to the door maybe ten feet behind them, we found it remarkable that the fifty feet across the lobby was entirely empty of the approximately 10 women who had just entered in front of us. They were very swift of feet! We also found that the door required a key card to open and we didn’t have one. So we proceeded around to the front and inquired at the front desk as to whether they had a room in either of the names we knew. She informed us that she couldn’t help us. Not that there were no rooms in that name, but that she couldn’t help us.
We spent a good fifteen minutes walking through the ground floor hall trying to see if we could hear a bunch of white trash bitches honking off behind any of the doors, but no such luck. So, now having to admit that we had been deliberately ditched by this marvelous bunch of common hos, we have a few hours to kill. We are both nearly speechless. I mean seriously, how many times after you get out of the sixth grade do you honestly have to consider things like this happening to you?
So we found a couple of ways to spend our time and then went home. It was kinda sad. It was even more sad the next day when again I saw two of the girls in the group and watched as they caught sight of me, turned to each other and began to giggle and laugh uproariously with each other.
It makes me wonder about the kind of people who think that hurting people for sport is a good thing. I wonder what kind of things they tell themselves to make it ok to hurt someone’s feelings just for fun. I wonder what they say inside of themselves when they are choosing the next person to cause pain to, is there some certain trait that they are looking for? Or is it just the next unfortunate person who comes into their sight? I don’t understand how one goes about telling themselves that they have soooo many people just waiting in line to be their lifelong friend, that they can afford to callously toss good people aside like garbage and laugh about it.
Like I said at the beginning of this whole thing, I’ve been around this kind of common, trashy, unraised, behavior all my life. I’ve seen it a million times. It comes from not being raised right in the beginning, then being too lazy to make sure that you choose to act right when it’s your turn to call the shots. It’s just easier to roll on back to those less than humane beginnings .
I have accepted my part in the hurt caused to my friend. I have apologized to her several times. If my brain was in proper working order my red flags would have been dancing the macarena at me over that invitation and I would have known better than to accept. I was trying to help celebrate a new beginning for friends. My friend was only there because I asked her to come with me. It was my disability that caused her pain and for my part in that I am deeply sorry and ashamed.
Now let’s add to the entertainment by adding that the main person at the previous event managed to top off the event the following evening by hurting the feelings of an eight year old girl by popping off at the mouth to her at the end of a very long evening when said eight year old girl went to tell her that she was leaving.
I am no longer surprised by the stupidity of people or the incredibly stupid things they do to hurt people for no good reason. I see it and I feel it all the time. It just makes me terribly, terribly sad. I hope that they accomplished whatever it was they were planning to do by excluding us, and I hope it was worth the cost.
Because (to quote myself) I’ve managed to live my entire life without them in it, and I’ll manage quite well to live the rest of it without them in it as well, and never really notice the difference at all.
My friend is owed a huge apology. A heartfelt apology. I hope she gets one.
As for me, I am neither owed an apology, nor will I accept one. I am done.
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Posted by thought4food
April 17, 2007
I suffer from a terrible, terrible disorder. It affects millions of people the world over. Sadly there is no cure. *sob*
This horrible malady causes a melting effect of the face that is frightening to little children and disheartening to the sufferers. It leaches all color out of the hair, and causes an extreme overgrowth of the skin that creates a sagging effect on the body of the afflicted.
Strange lines and grooves appear in the faces, hands, arms, even……yes, even the legs of these poor, poor individuals. Tiny dark spots show up out of nowhere. They bend over as if weighted down. Yet no weight shows up on any photograph or scientific test.
But the most debilitating of all of the symptoms of this terrible disease are the mental ones. Imagine putting on your glasses to hunt for your glasses because you can’t see to look for your glasses without your glasses on! Oh! How horrible!
Try, if you only can, to imagine burning the hair in your nose because you tried to light a cigarette that you forgot to put in your mouth! *gasp*
Sad……so sad. 😦
Imagine going to a fast food drive thru, taking your false teeth out and wrapping them in a napkin while you eat, then tossing them out with the trash. *sigh*
This malady is the scourge of millions worldwide. It has no cure. Send no money. There is nothing we can do but cry.
Youth Deficiency! Damn You! Damn You! Da Hey Look! I found my hair brush! I’ve been looking for that!………Uh…… What was I saying?
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Posted by thought4food
April 17, 2007
It amazes me that in the the most advanced time that we know of on this earth, in one of the most socially, economically, and scientifically advanced countries on this earth, we still can’t manage to keep our asses out of each other’s bedrooms!
Who cares if gay couples get married? How in the hell does that possibly have any contrary effect on heterosexual couples? And don’t come thumping any Bibles at me either. Let me just remind you that one of the main reasons this country was founded was the desire for religious freedom. That means that you don’t get to pound your mainstream Christian beliefs down my throat.
We no longer need to be fruitful and multiply. I think it’s pretty plain for anyone to see that the human race has gotten that one down pat. We might even be said to have been excessively successful at it. So, other than procreation, what is the problem?
Let’s just put it bluntly. Because heterosexuals are in the majority, we can just refuse to allow anyone in a minority the same rights and protections as us because they are different. I thought we took care of that kind of idiotic thinking with the civil rights movement. I guess not quite.
It’s funny….I notice that when children are young, you have to point out to them the same lesson over and over. They don’t have the ability to apply a lesson learned in one situation to a slightly different situation. It takes a little bit of maturity and a little bit of intelligence for them to get the hang of it. Sadly it seems that we haven’t reached that point as a country yet.
Aside from the fact that I just don’t feel like someone else’s sexuality is my business, the problem I most have with the national feeling against gay marriage is this: if it’s OK for the majority to tell gay people who they are allowed to marry, how long will it be before they can tell YOU who YOU can marry?
That may sound alarmist to you, all comfy and safe in your bed with your husband or wife. But what if your spouse is of a different faith than you? What if that becomes politically incorrect? What if the majority suddenly decides that interfaith marriages are a security risk? What if they’re un-American? What happens if you can’t marry the person you love because their faith is one thing and yours is another?
Not their business, you say? What about the separation of Church and State, you ask? Good question! What about that? There are plenty of churches ready and willing to marry gay couples. The states won’t legalize the marriages. Their reasons are all based on religious beliefs. That is a pure, unadulterated violation of the rules governing the separation of Church and State. Go figure. Not the first example by far, and certainly won’t be the last.
Here’s the deal. We let it slide that two people who love each other and are willing to make a legal binding commitment to each other, be told that they can’t do it because someone doesn’t like what they do in bed together. We let it slide because it isn’t us. We let it slide because we are ignorant, embarrassed, afraid. We let it slide. And the next thing that happens is, someone is standing in our bedroom door making judgements about whatever private things we do that are none of their damn business, and saying that we can’t do it because the majority says it’s wrong.
Couldn’t happen here, could it? Not in America. Not in the land of the free. Well, it’s not really free anymore though, is it?
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Posted by thought4food
April 15, 2007
I am at a total loss as to an explanation for sickness. What possible purpose does it serve in the vast scheme of things? Why should we become ill and then get well? Why should we become ill at all? What is the underlying cosmically necessary meaning behind it all?
Couldn’t there have been some other teeny tiny prey for a virus to pounce upon that didn’t live in my body? You would think that either the Higher Power(s) or evolution would have hit upon something! Seriously! There could have been herds of little cow like creatures roaming around in snotty stuff for viruses to feast upon and we would never have been the wiser. Or how about little rodentesque critters scampering around hiding in obscure places for viruses to ferret out?
The viruses could have banded together and made little slaughter houses to deal with the varmints they caught! And for those vegan viruses there could have been little plant stuffies for them to eat. Nutritionally sound if consumed in the proper quantities. Why would that have been a problem? Why didn’t it develope that way? Instead we’re stuck with viruses and an immune system!
The way I see it is this: My body wouldn’t need an immune system if there wasn’t anything for it to be immunized against. So, why sickness? What is it’s purpose? Why not just be well until we die?
We should live long healthy lives until the very moment that we keel over dead. Or at least not get sick until it’s time to die. Yeah! That’s it! We’ll be totally well for all our lives! The only time we get sick will be the one and only time in our lives we will ever be sick. Then……kaplooey! Yer dead.
Sounds good, doesn’t it? Until you’re skipping down the street having the time of your life, and suddenly……ACHOOOOO!
Uh oh! *gulp*
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Posted by thought4food
Thought For Food 