One Life

The other day I wrote about a month-long “cold” (to me, that’s not the cold, it’s a fucking plague or chronic condition, but I didn’t go to medical school) that I was recently diagnosed with, which reminds me of the ways I might have courted this.

One of my guys at work blames the fact that I don’t have a car and that I take public transit, which puts me in a petri dish, much as I would experience in a daily 45-minute flight of recycled air. I guess that’s fair.

I also work in a petri dish, where three of my guys have children in grade school who fester in their own petri dish and then bring the experiment home to Dad to share at work. Men aren’t known for practicing anti-bacterial, or washing after they perform certain bodily functions, and there’s another possibility.

I work too much, which lowers the defenses.

I don’t get nearly enough healthy exercise, but more like gain exercise in brute labor, which isn’t exercise at all in the practice that my body never heals.

I don’t eat right with 7 minutes average for breakfasts and lunches.

I don’t get enough fresh air. Yes, I walk a lot to and from public transportation, but the sidewalks, particularly by the Hall of Justice and the train station, are thick with cigarette smoke. I have considered taking up smoking again simply because I get enough of it now to kill me, but not enough of it to relax me.

Blame, blame, blame. Still, my new goal is to find a life that grants me balance and moderation in everything, and allows health.

We’ll see where I can chip away at it.