Still no joy in Mudville.

Roomie has gone off to run errands, and I am alone. On the one hand, I'm glad because I have a few hours to myself to think my thoughts and scratch my ass and watch TV without interruption, but on the other, I'm ill at ease. I'm exquisitely aware of my vulnerability, my physical limitations. If something unexpected were to happen, my options would be few. If I were lucky, I could escape the house to safety, short pants and my dignity. If I weren't, I would die. The end. It's a sobering thought to entertain, and sometimes I wonder how often able folks have similar thoughts. Not often, I suspect, else they wouldn't routinely do such stupid things as trying to annihilate a spider with a butane torch or leaping off a short bridge in an effort to demonstrate the unrivaled circumference of their sacred testes. I envy them such serene unawareness of their fragility.
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