I do not want to be sick. Do you?

"The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori." (Wilfred Owen)

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The above picture is from a room in my (BMcC[18-11-46-503]) local hospital: Northern Westchester. As hospitals go, it is probably as good as it gets (unless you have Arab sheik wealth). The staff are very nice; it's not overrun with who knows what coming in the Emergency Room like maybe hospitais in a mobopolis like New York City, or maybe a rural hospital that might still rely on a 1940s X-ray machine, or god help us a place full of disgusting people in wretched place like Cairo (Egypt). When I get the least hin that somebody in m ysurround may have any sort of contagion such as even "a little cold", I am repulsed exactly like trying to get the same pole ot two magnets together.

The world is full of uneducated people who easily get intoxicated with such drugs as patriotism and religion which lead them into all sorts of trouble, which would not be a problem if they just kept it to themselves. But people always love to share anything they have that I, for one, do not want any part of, especially their coughs and protecting the honor of their Prophet (is He so petty that he cares if some uncouth nonbeliever curses him or draws a pornographic cartoon of Him(PBUHuh?), Huh?).

I do not appreciate why some people do not take sickness, injury and even death seriously. All I have is my waking alertness: nothing else is anything without it. It is not enough, but it is a sine qua non for any and every thing else. Some people like to cry over split milk such as dead heroes but that does not do the dead heros any good. Some people are not too upset about being military conscripted which is known to often lead to injury, chronic debilitation and also death – death presumably is not the worst since then either you are not at all or else you are off some place other than this earth. But suffering is real, isn't it? And even if you luck out and do not get hurt, being military conscripted, lik having to work at a yoou-waste-your-life job to make ends meet, deprives you of gracious leisure to enjoy studying and crntributing to the arts and sciences and connoisseurship of good friends, a good lover, loving playful pets, art, food and every other good thing that can populate waking alertness.

I watched some war footage on The Smithsonian Challel of what American soldiers were put through in capturing the Pacific islands form the Japanese in World War II; how did they endure it? Because they were uneducated and One Capatin did collapse, saying he could not bear to send any more man to their death. Please, get over your sentimentality about dead heroes, Mr. Biden, and take war and military conscription away!

"All social customs are shared hallucinoses aka social psychoses."" (Wilfred Bion)*

Anybody who believes anything is sick in the head, but that's a different story. I'm worried about them sharing their germs with me or otherwise increasing my chances of suffering and/or lessening my possibilities of joy. In particular if I was younger and had the impairment of having a Y chromosome, I would be very afraid of America's govenment throwing my life away in Ukraine today as blithely as throwing a hunk of meat to a dog. The stronger gender, of course get to be judas goats to send "the boys" to die in the most recent "fields of Flanders" when it's not Stalingrad.

Back to the matter at hand. I cannot cope well with not being well. I am afraid of Fortuna drawing my lottery number for the dread disease for which she will also make a random drawing. Instantiation(me, disease) = sick.

I have been fortunate and unfortunate. No dread diseases but little things that most people would not notice (because they don't notice much of anything) but which spoil everything for me. Being scarcely able to walk is not big concern for me. A minute lump or bump in my mouth which the oral surgeon cannot find but I can feel it is a show stopper. My maternal grandfather had hide almost like a toad; it would he been unbearable for me. Jus tto be a normally heavy male like my father would have been disgusting for me. So what kind of sickness? Sometimes I have symptoms which the normal people around me urge me to go to the doctor about: that means n=my symptoms are making them uncomfortable about themselves and they want me to stop making them feel uncomfortable about themselves. Things that concern me are: "It's no big deal, Brad". OK. I get it: I am no big deal for them but I cannot tell them the truth becaus ethey have coercive power to hurt me and so I h=must try to keep them as happy with themseles as possible for my sake, not theirs. See my Just So story about the lady who died becuse she was mortified: here. For me one problem being in the hospitel would be being afraid of my IV line(s). If I don't move my arm maybe I won't hurt them and they won't hurt me? Another problem would be having nothing to do. But I must be careful about that because people with power over me are always eager to give me something to do that they could do but don't want to so dump it on me. I am the BRoAD FORD; I am their doormat.