Monday, September 22, 2008

Get down with the sickness!

Continuing existence on this planet is gloriously futile. Whether we over-populate and drown in our own feces or are gallantly whisked away to some nether-realm by a mystical overlord, we are all merely fanny-pack clad tourists in a big, dumb interstellar theme park. To prevent this pesky notion penetrating too deeply I often fill my time with delightfully frivolous activities. I have been fortunate in that school, work, and cycling serve rather adequately as shields to the lurking danger of endlessly ruminating on the total uselessness and depravity of life.

However, today the universe has forsaken me. I have been unjustly wrested from my favorable position in the cosmos, just as so many lepers and pariahs before me. Fate revealed its fickle temperament and unleashed its molten head, leaving me practically petrified in volcanic ash not unlike the peasants of Pompeii. Just as summer meets its official end, as the weather becomes so delightfully pleasant and endlessly inviting to epic and glorious bike rides, I get dreadfully sick. And not the definition of sick, but stricken with the most undignified of illnesses. I'm talking about the fabled and deplorable stomach flu.

It started innocently enough, a few aches and a sore throat; nothing excessively torturous. Forgoing social activities I dutifully logged a decent night's sleep, a modest yet sufficient 11 hours. I ate a healthful breakfast of raisin-speckled peanut butter and celery, or "ants on a log" if you had any gleaming of a decent childhood. Sluggish yet determined to resume daily activities, I rounded up the dogs for their morning walk; and that is when all worldly truth, honesty and decency eroded to reveal hideous, treacherous lies. The ants came swarming out of me with speed and intent, the logs rejected gravity with the determination of spawning salmon, splintering my throat and coating my cardigan with vile, acidic peanut butter chyme. The episode was absurd and shocking, a blasphemous way to start any day, let alone the first official day of fall. I hobbled home, projectile-spewing with every few steps, and proceeded to lock myself indoors for the rest of the day. 

Today is barren of any worthwhile distraction (bike riding) to the constant rumination that life is essentially useless. The whirs of refreshing breeze and tapping of dry leaves are tugging mercilessly at my heartstrings. All of this is further proof that we, the inhabitants of earth, are indeed orphans in the mid-90's Eastern bloc of the universe... mindlessly drifting, alone and unwelcome. Can you hear me Major Tom?

In sum, barfing all day instead of riding my bike apparently bums me out.