Real Midnight Radio

At least, EDT it is midnight. Here, it's only 11pm. Regardless, it's be an bloody full hour and a half since I first started trying to go to sleep. The medication I am supposedly taking to "keep me from coughing in the night" is proving largely useless--no matter what time of day I take it, it wears off by about 9pm. This is still true if I take the medicine at 8pm. If I fail to take it at all, it seems to have the same effect. Weather, climate, proximity to animals, nothing seems to change my situation. I've been dealing with some incarnation of this stupid allergy/cough thing since mid-March. I have had it. I'm miserable.

This stinks. I am so incredibly, unbelieveable tired. All I want in the whole world is to sleep. I can't lay down, because I'll start coughing. Even if I don't, I'll have to get up within three minutes to use the bathroom because all this coughing makes me, well, need to go about every three minutes. I'm so tired!!!!!!!!!! This is awful. The solution, then, is to sit in front of the computer and numb my brain until the rest of me is so beyond exhausted that it goes to sleep, coughing and bathroom trips notwithstanding. Then, I carefully get in bed without waking it and hope to last at least three hours before regaining consciousness.

Meanwhile, Joseph sleeps the sleep of the dead. And unpregnant. And unallergic.

Lamentabili

Sigh. One feels so grossly ill-equipped to actually discuss moral matters with the world at large. There simply is no common ground on which to stand. I cannot begin to discuss rights and justice with someone who does no believe in absolute truth. I cannot begin to discuss the integrity of marriage with someone who rejects nature. I cannot begin to discuss either with someone who, to put it simply, does not believe in God. My only weapons are against some kind of aristotelian semi-heretic. I need too many things to be similar in order to "debate" someone else. I can't make headway on the sand dunes that I'm faced with instead.

The large family my adversary was born into has provided him with an unshakeable opinion that abortion is wrong. Somehow, he and his siblings share a deep love, deeper than the love they have for their parents in some ways, that makes the idea of "not having" one of them unthinkable.

However, that's as deep as it goes. It's wrong because it's wrong, basically--I mean, which sibling would you have chosen to abort? There is no underlying belief in the sanctity of life in general, the notion that life is a gift from Almighty God not to be toyed with. There is no feeling that somehow abortion is a grave moral evil, contrary to Natural and Divine Laws. It's just wrong. Like killing a fox in England. It simply isn't done.

I know this for a fact. If you pursue abortion down the political road with my adversary, he gets peeved. He complains that you shouldn't make politics a "one issue thing." Somehow, abortion is wrong enough to object to, but not wrong enough to make you utterly and completely distrust and despise someone who thinks it is not wrong. Someone, no less, who spends their energy and their influence making sure that it is made as available as prevalent as possible. My adversary thinks such an attitude of distrust and despising is silly--think of all the other isssues there are to consider, he says. This is a silly thing to base your whole attitude on.

My adversary does not believe contraception is wrong. He has no problem with IVF, gay marriage, surrogate motherhood, artificial wombs, cloning, the creation of genetic children for gay couples, or stem cell research. I cannot in any way approach him on these subjects. What is being damaged, what is being destroyed by all these evils is a good in which he does not believe. I have no common ground with him on which to discuss the integrity and sanctity of marriage. He loves babies, but not enough to marry someone who wanted to have babies of her own. Ever.
What makes these people this way? He was raised a Catholic. He has siblings, older and younger, who are raising Catholic families. He has siblings that are altar servers, siblings who have considered the priesthood. What happened?

Have a little Hyfrydol

So, this post is funny only to people who recognize the word in the title right away. If I have to explain it, it won't be as funny when you're done.

Anyhow. Was reminded in Mass yesterday of an old friend, my very earliest days of email (when I still used my mom's account), and what happens when educated people with senses of humor say whatever comes into their head. Thus, as they say, was born Hyfrydol: The Only Cure for An Upset Cello.

It does, after all, sound like some sort of perscription stuff-for-what-ails-you, and good ol' Mark insisted on pointing it out. Which was all fine and good, until we played a fanfare prelude on the tune in band the next semester--with HYFRYDOL [for-what-ails-you] emblazoned across the top for all the world to giggle at. Not that giggling is a problem, but when you are not only the only oboe in the band but also the only oboe in the band with a significant solo, being struck by the funniness of it all is just a perscription for disaster.

Especially since Mark is never out of your field of vision, sitting like he does at the head of the clarinet section. Drat him. Giggle giggle, went the clarinet.

To clean off a hard drive is a dangerous thing...

Oh my gosh!!!!!!!!! What was I thinking!!!!?????!!!!!?????

A Breakthrough

So, I've discovered that I'm actually quite a remarkable writer. My writing is witting, personable, fun, and speaks to the reader. Unfortunately, this only applies if I am writing to a specific person about a specific thing. For example, if I write to 2LT Jungle Man, my writing is exactly and perfectly suited to him, his reading style, his personality, and our relationship. If I write to Donna, the same applies.

I decided yesterday that making the whole blog a letter to my readers would fail utterly, because the personal touch of "writing to a specific person about a specific thing" would be lost. Then, I considered just putting up my letters to individuals instead, since they've already got their fire and spirit.

Over Jungle Man's dead body.

Apologia pro doing nothing

I just had to mention again how cool appliances are. I fill them up, I push the button, and the house is filled with deceptively purposeful, busy, businesslike noises instantly. In the meantime, I do nothing at all and yet still feel like I'm getting so very much accomplished. Ha ha!

The Score: Dirty Dishes - 1; Me - 0

Well, after talking and talking and failing to knock on wood, I've found a smell that makes me sick. Oh well. My allergy medication must be working, because that sour milk was the first thing I've really smelled in two months.

Can anyone tell me why there are no fingernail clippers in the house?? Someone I know can't leave home without a pair, and it looks like he left home with every single one we owned. I know for a fact there are two in his car...just in case he needs to do both hands at once.

Blah again?

Unlike my beloved spouse, who has recently exhibited a rather pronounced proclivity for authorship, I feel less and less inclined to write anything these days. Shall I mention letting my soft palate get away from my brain and say things to my dearest friend that it shouldn'tve? Shall I mention having blood pressure and a pulse so high this morning that the technician made me come back at the end of the doctor's visit to check it again (it was normal)? Shall I mention the baking sunshine that's making the puddles in my front yard from the [concurrent] driving rainstorm be warmer than most people would want to bathe in? Shall I mention not feeling like putting away all the stuff that I sorted out to put away? Shall I mention trying to nap in four different places, only to be pursued and interrupted by a dreaming kitty?

Nah.