The funniest thing happened the other day. I became deathly ill, in a whoa-what-is-wrong-with-me-does-dengue-recur-or-maybe-that-was-malaria-after-all kind of way. It was great because I don’t have health insurance? And I live in the US? Specifically New York City, she of the imploding economy and the glut of young, over-educated, high-self-regarding types, and the obscene cost of living, and (I’m sure I mentioned) I am without steady employment! You think I’m complaining but you’re wrong!
It reminds me of how I feel about hummus lately. To be sure, hummus is one of the best foods, and a dominant staple of my diet. But part of my freak illness is a sickly sweet taste in my mouth, which means the last time I ate hummus it was DISGUSTING. So now I gag at the thought of delicious, tahini-rich garbanzo puree, despite my love for it. It's the cruel irony of desiring what makes you sick (OR VERY ANGRY), like my increasingly feeble laptop, the breeze from the Greenpoint Superfund site, or All My Children.
I can only laugh at the new threats to my personal solvency and well-being. What else is there to do? On fait ce qu’on peut, as Arthur used to say.
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