I sleep at completely odd times. I sleep a little while, wake up,fritter away a couple of hours, sleep some more. This is, so I’ve heard what old guys do. And I will be 70 in approximately thirty-three days.Is that old?Not as old as Biden. Or Trump. Older than Buttigieg, by a lot.
So this stokes my anxiety level, particularly when the Federal Reserve is creating money out of thin air and I might have to get a vaccine made from aborted fetal tissue. Nothing like moral ambiguity, exacerbated by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. If manufacture of life-saving vaccines depend upon abortion providers and their, uh, “output”that is not an insignificant moral quandary. Tell me the pharmaceutical companies did not use fetal tissue in research, development and manufacture of the COVID-19 vaccine. Please. Tell me.
Well, anyway. Refocus. That is what The New Year is for.
The Old Year is where I am stuck. My car is on loan to my son, has been for almost two weeks. Now I am beginning to miss it. It will be back soon. I hope. It would be nice to get it back so I can resume doing stuff.
The current dystopia is beginning to feel comfortable. It fits like a old shoe. Mask at the ready? ✔ Socially distanced? ✔. Is there space available in the drug store? ✔ At least, when I’m home, watching old movies on TV, I can tell myself, “Things really haven’t changed all that much?”
They’re just things to lose sleep over.