Biohazard Pie and Worry Warts

I shouldn't have eaten that stupid pie. Microbe pie. Biohazard pie. Wrong breath or fingers on the pie. Why'd you have to look so yummy? Why can't I see the debilitating little bacterial bastards dancing on your flaky crust?

Nope. I saw that goddamn piece of pie and thought, "Yum! Shit, it'll be al-RAHHT!"

I do that too much, and it tends not to be alright when I do. But then I don't want to walk around thinking everything is always going to be bad either, as a neurotic does, because that's way more harmful to me than any cold.

Eh. Fuck it. I popped that night sweat yesterday so perhaps I'm on the other side of it. The keyword is PERHAPS.

No. It isn't COVID. I still haven't had the Government Flu, and I'm not going to anticipate it. Mostly because I know my emotional investment in a thing one way or the other tends to have absolutely no bearing on the thing in and of itself or whether it will affect me. I'll either get the shit or I won't and if I do, wah. I'll get over it. The worry of it isn't going to make a fuck to the price of Qat in Morocco, is it? And that's a choice which needs made every day, to the best of my ability. For the tendency in today's world is to Worry Wart everything into trolldom.

I still won't take the vaccine. Not because of all the conspiracy stuff. I merely don't see it working. Folks with 4 boosters still have COVID, and the idea that the purpose behind the Vax is to keep yourself from getting a severe case of COVID as opposed to a less severe case just sounds like the kind of argument a Used Car Salesman would make.

That's me, and I don't suggest folks be me. Be you. Do you. Hell with everyone else. Even me. And my plague pastry. 

*alternate title--never write sick*