Lunchtime. I’m feeling like the old lady who fell and couldn’t get up today. But I didn’t break my hip or have a heart attack or throw out my back or anything like that. I’m just tired. And I can’t get back up. So I’m refueling with a sandwich from the coffee cart. A tuna sandwich, to be exact. And a Fresca. Danger food. So soon I might really fall and really not be able to get up. Or maybe I’ll just belch a lot.
The good news from today is that I’m not allergic to Petey, as I thought I was. It’s just the dust mites, which, by the way, are hideous. Anything that lives off dead skin is not okay in my book. What kind of life is that, anyway? Living in a mattress, waiting for skin to flake off humans (and god knows what else) so you can eat it, just to survive. And what do they contribute to society? Allergies. And that amounts to large doctor’s bills. And strife. And stress. Physical, emotional and financial woes. So I’d venture to say that dust mites are the root of all evil. I’m actually surprised George W. doesn’t bomb them.