I sure do seem to get sick an awful lot. Half sick and half laid up, I don’t feel particularly unhealthy, maybe unlucky. I’ll have a hard time with a fever every few years, but it feels like something’s always going on. I’ll step on a nail, or carrying a rock incorrectly up a rickety horizontal ladder in the forest will cause a wound that flares my gout, or I’ll randomly get a staph infection. 

Do these imply an unhealthiness?
Perhaps of the mind, or the degree to which I care for my body and it’s delicate placement in the world as I walk through it.

Whatever the case may be I’m anti biotics for the aformentioned staph infection. They’re turning my gut into a barren wasteland as I type this. While that makes me pretty sad, it also opens an opportunity for me to cultivate a biota of truly admirable quality.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself right now so that I don’t go eat a bowl of fruity pebbles to wash down my anti biotics. That would be the American way, I think.