Insidious Adaptation

My body may be sick, but my soul, she is weary. It is the man inside that has been sick my entire life, My. Entire. Life. The word MY cannot be acknowledged there enough, for it is my life right? Me! The problem with sickness isn't the sickness itself, for whether it is a cold, flue, stomach bug, depression, anxiety, these reactions and ways we interpret them are neither good nor bad, but just are, yet, we submit. WE submit to the flu and gather around those who have it, comforting, loving them, "say prayers," and all rightly so, for the, "flu" as we know it to be does have the potential to hospitalize or kill a person as the media likes to give their annual account of flu-related deaths. The, "flu" or a, "cold" seem to be these underlying spirits that promote fear and hyper-cleansing. Yet, then there are "superbugs" that evolve from such hyper-sanitary areas making us sicker than ever, maybe by resistant strains of the sickne...

"Noooooo!" Screams an almost 3-year old 2-feet from her father's face. "Yes!" Father concedes to the game.  "No daddy!" She is in control now.  "Hey, we are getting this shirt on because I said so." Because, well, I said so, and I am an adult right, so I must know best, father knows best, right?  The game all parents are familiar with, a tug-of-war in words, where a child's ability to take on all possibilities of a situation, including downright refusal, exposes a parent's weakness.  "Look, a butterfly." As she picks her cup up, distracting either herself, or dad, neither of us really know.  "Sweetheart." Dad is calmer now. "We have to get dressed, we don't want to be naked do we?" Yes, rhetorical questioning because, duh, right?  Wrong.  "Daddy, I want milk." She asks, and my first thought is, where is that milk? Only to come right back to, hey, wait a minut...