When it comes to human nature and the various manifestations of it, I have the same opinion that I do about aliens- namely, “It’s a big world/universe and anything’s possible.” My cordial introductions to abnormal psychology, through my own experience and in my college years, bear this out well. The idea that anyone could enjoy being sick makes a lot more sense once it’s dressed up in words like “Munchausen syndrome,””factitious disorder,” or “Ferris Beuller’s Day Off.”

Yes, some people can enjoy being sick- but I am avowedly not one of them.

I’m at my desk with some jazz playing, a candle burning, my slippers on, and I’m feeling just about human again at (hopefully) the tail end of the worst flu I’ve had in my life. This is the first time in five days that I’ve felt the capacity to work on or do anything besides sleep, cough up green gunk, hobble around and chug liquids. The coaster on my right which would normally have a nice beer or a little whiskey on it is currently occupied by a large, sea-foam green bottle of Gatorade. Hydrating has been the priority for the last few days, and when I’m finally well enough to rejoin the world, I think I’ll be ready to throw every sports drink bottle I see into the sun.

What is it about being sick I hate so much? More than just the actual symptoms- hacking up gunk, every hole in my body leaking assorted fluids, and the various aches and pains aren’t something I think even the most ardent sympathy seeker really enjoys. It’s the loss of focus, the loss of energy, and arguably the loss of agency for me that makes being sick so miserable. The inescapable feeling of being locked in your own body, and that body being out of order.

What do you want to do? What do you feel like doing? Doesn’t matter- you aren’t calling the shots. “Sorry boss, body’s out.”

If I was a bit more masochistic, I could connect that feeling with what Inauguration Day 2025 means for a large portion of the United States. I could connect it with the Israel-Hamas War, the long chanted-for ceasefire, and the knowledge at after 15 months of pain and loss, there were only two groups of winners- the ones who profit off the blood and misery of others, and the survivors of such people.

Out of curiosity, anyone know the current exchange rate between human lives and internet clout? Truth is cheap and apparently really easy to counterfeit, the inflation of Facts must be crazy…

No, no, that’s as far as I want to go with that. That’s not the point of this post, and not what I want to be the point. The point is I have just spent the better part of a week isolated from the larger world, and I wish I could pretend I had a better time of it.

I really wish I could do without the frustrations, sadness, and stupid avoidable tragedy of this world. I hate that my imaginary hermitage and divorce from the absurdity of humanity falls apart in the face of a week of flu and my frustrating need to be PART of the world.

Pulling out of social media was necessary and good for me, but damn if I’m not missing the presence of voices that- quiet, occasional, and distant as they were- made me happier to know they existed. Sickness is isolation, and Isolation itself is a sickness.

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Missing the Background

That was last week. I’m back to health, and spent a week at work catching up. I’m bundled up having a beer and a burrito at the Pod. I spent the day exercising, then walking around and catching up with friends both digital and physical. The world still feels like a hot mess, but I feel it a little less simply because I’m no longer alone with it all. “Misery shared is misery halved, Joy shared is Joy multiplied.”

This past week, I was back at my bench in the winery methodically mushing together loaves of herb bread the way I do most mornings. It’ll be a relatively chill day, so I let my mind wander as I weigh oily mounds of pale brioche dough into cast iron skillets. It’s the kind of meditative and mindless work that can be a blessing or a bane, depending on your state of mind at the time.

My mind was tired of ruminating on misgivings and frustrations, so it just started mulling– chewing over bits and ideas of the past, the way our brains are supposed to do when we’re bored.

Somewhere between the 24th and 25th 201g mound of dough I was weighing, this thought struck me:

“There’s a lot of life going on in the background.”

Pick the worst date in history. Any worst date.

Pearl Harbor, 12/7/1941?
Southern Israel, 10/7/2023?
Washington DC, 1/7/2021?
New York, 9/11/01?

Pick any of them… and think about how, statistically speaking, that was almost certainly the same day someone got married.
It’s the same day a baby was born.
It’s the same day someone met their future partner for the first time. The night of that day, a writer started their first book.
An artist showed their work to the public for the first time. 

There’s a lot of life that happens in the background of the bad shit. The bad shit is bad, you can ignore it- but it’s a disservice to all the good in the background to let one momentary bastard steal the sunshine of a beautiful day.

It’s that background I think I miss. Even if I’m not engaging directly with people and their lives, I need to be around them and know their presence. To isolate is to imitate the dead- I need to be around the living.

I, and the world, won’t get better by making ourselves sicker.

Stay Classy,