blogging, coughing, boy george, camaraderie, life

Sometimes I feel it would be better if I only posted creative interesting things. If I left out the boring, rant-ish, whiny, and/or unimportant posts. If my journal were inspiring and intriguing rather than mundane. If I didn't use it simply as an outlet for whatever was on my mind at the time. But then there wouldn't be many posts, and it wouldn't really reflect my life, which is mostly mundane.

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I don't recall having allergies as a kid. Not the runny-nose, sneezing, itchy eyes kind of allergies that I started getting as an adult. Yet when I was about 10 years old, I had a persistent cough. I was tested for allergies, and was given some kind of desensitization treatment.. shots or skin patches; I don't recall it well.

I never quite understood how having a cough could be due to allergies.

Yet a couple years ago after having been sick, and still having a persistent cough and sore throat, a nurse told me it was due to post-nasal drip. That surprised me, as I usually only notice post-nasal drip when it is thin and runny - like when I'm having a runny nose kind of allergy attack.

The kind that makes my throat itch, by contrast, is thicker. It's just now in the last few years that I'm able to recognize this sensation. Realizing that my throat is tickling due to thick slime oozing down back there, as opposed to tickling for an unknown reason. It's odd that this wasn't something I was able to recognize to begin with.

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I'm staying up late to see Boy George on Jimmy Kimmel... Hadn't planned to, but upon hearing that BG would be on, I figured I shouldn't miss that, right? Like old times, staying up to see an appearance. Gosh, how long is this show? Figures that he'd be the last person on.

Aw. Just one song, and not even an interview.

I've listened to clips from his latest album, but none of the songs really appealed to me. This one he sang didn't either.

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Yesterday while eating lunch, something buzzy flew into my hair. I put my hand up and flinched away when I felt something up there. So I brushed it off with my sandwich container. I turned to look at the picnic table, and there it was, some kind of cute bug. Looked like a youngster. I blew at it, and it lifted its front legs (arms? pincers?) up in the air as it to ward off an attack. So then I let it be and ate my lunch. But I turned back to look at it several times. It didn't move away. I began to feel a camaraderie with it.

Such a small thing. And yet it has a brain. What is it like, to be that insect? What is it thinking? Is it watching me? Is it feeling camaraderie with me too?

It's all in my mind. That feeling of camaraderie would quickly vanish if I saw it doing something like eating another insect.

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It's so hard, living. One has to feel compassion for anyone who's managed to stay alive, to make it so far... to stay fed, stay clothed, live to adulthood, and everything else. Even if they aren't making a very good impression. Even if they're arguing, or drunk, or conniving, criminal.

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Break on through, break on through.

How can this life be anything other than a puzzle to figure out? And if so, it isn't without merit to wonder who made the puzzle and why.

Or this life could be something without any meaning at all.

It's all up to what one manages to believe.

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There's an odd smell in this room. Like... old cat litter, maybe. Seems to be coming from the brick wall. Or maybe from one of the electrical outlets. Or maybe the edge where the brick wall meets the floor. I wonder if it is related to the rodent in the wall, though I haven't heard it in a couple weeks.