But my curve is low
Some days are better than others. Perception.
The weekend is almost over, and I have a week with little to “look forward to”. Perception. There’s that word, again. I feel like things could be better, so why not call on the pseudosciences for an explanation. Call up my biorhythm, online. Emotional curve is at rock bottom. There. A simple explanation.
Could this be a crisis moment? Is it rejection when I’m not even trusted to put away the groceries? Why can’t there be a fudge factor for depression? Like fudge. I could use an injection of sugar right about now, except that it would be a better solution for a physical lack. Oh, emotional curve. You do me wrong.
Actually, I had a sugary afternoon, watching a Canadian movie. Paul Gross, getting a beating from some Mounties. Justice, TV style. Actually, Gunless kept us giggling for most of the ninety minutes. And to think that we could have channel surfed right on by… even the guest dog barked at the appropriate moments (cued by an online mutt).
Certain sectors of the scientific world have advised against the publishing of new “bird flu research”. Fear that nefarious individuals could concoct a variation that would make us really sick. Wasn’t that whole wash your hands, cough in your elbow, stay away from friends campaign sufficient? We’re a social species, dagnabit. We’re meant to congregate and procreate and take all sorts of risks. Here’s a thought… leave the chickens in the coop and stop sharing floorspace with those half-breed descendents of dinosaurs. There. Problem solved.
