Loyal Readers, your BloomingtonGirl writes to you today under the weight of what my husband calls the Hydrophobie. No, I don’t have rabies, but I do have a touch of the dreaded PMS. It is remarkable how powerful mood is. My life is not materially different than it was two weeks or even two days ago. The general world around me is not materially different, either. So, why is it that one can wake up on a given day and see everything differently? Darker or lighter than it appeared to be just the day before? Must be hormones, yes? Powerful little chemicals they are. If they aren’t already, I think that the government should be developing a big hormonal chemical warfare arsenal. You could make an entire country too depressed to resist our imperialism. Just think of the lives that would be spared because nobody would put up a fight against us. We could go in and steal all their oil and resources of a target country while the citizens watched Lifetime TV for Women romantic movies and ate chocolate.
But, back in my little life, my mood is more irritable than depressed. On days like today, I simply cannot bear other people. I had to go to the walk in clinic for a quick strep test today (I am fastidious about strep throat because of Chris’s valve disease). I hate the walk in clinic. I find most waiting rooms (even when those waiting are not coughing up a lung or holding a vomit bowl) absolutely DREADFUL these days. MUST we have television blaring programming for the lowest denominator of society in every public venue? At least at the airport, I can seat myself in a place away from the TV monitor. Not an option in a smaller venue. Today’s forced feeding consisted of two programs. First up was the tail end of the mysteriously popular Tyra Banks show. This drivel was followed by the shockingly inane and offensive to anyone with an IQ over 40 Maury Pauvitch show. It might be funny to watch these circus performers ,if I knew it was all fake. The fact that the world is increasingly peopled by idiots with no manners makes even an exaggerated depiction of them completely unfunny. If you haven’t seen it yet, take a look at the movie “Idiocracy” for a look at our future. Anyway, I found it increasingly difficult to bear sitting in that waiting room as time passed and my name was not called. During the Maury Pauvich torture, to make things worse, the man next to me began loudly discussing his symptoms with the woman across the room. I will not bore you with his vivid description of the color spectrum and consistency of his mucus. Fortunately, soon after that thrilling discourse, my name was called, my throat swabbed and I was freed from the petrie dish. My test was negative, just in case you are wondering.
That’s all for now. More when my hormones aren’t waging war on me. After all, I wouldn’t want any Loyal Readers thinking that BloomingtonGirl lacked the Midwestern charm.