I've NEVER NOTICED THAT BEFORE.

It's been about six months since I was last ill. It was a pretty good run, but I've got a cold now.

It's not even a bad cold. Just a cold. But I still feel compelled to complain about it. I think complaining is an unspoken symptom of the virus.

The trouble is, I now have a dilemma when people ask me how I am. I have to say: "yeah, I'm fine - I have a bit of a cold though".

People hate that. They think I'm looking for sympathy. They think I want them to say 'oh dear' and touch me consolingly on the shoulder. When in truth, I want them to touch me somewhere else (although that might prove contagious).

Even if I wasn't ill, nobody actually wants to know how you are. You just ask out of instinct and convention. And you reply in the same vein (fine, thanks). It's the height of rudeness to give out your actual state of being. It's vulgar to divulge anything about yourself. In a perfect world, people would wonder around in Japanese Noh masks, interacting via regimented head movements, and weird call-and-answer yelps. No more sharing, thank you very much.

It's like saying Bless You after someone sneezes. I say it, and I'm not really that bothered about the blessing. As Lucy pointed out, as an atheist I should be opposed to saying it. But I still do it. That one's even weirder than the 'how are you'. What are we trying to say with that? It just draws attention to the sneezer. That's what we're really saying: "I heard you sneeze!". It's less about a blessing, and more bragging about our hearing.

Sneezes are pretty disgusting. We shouldn't be drawing attention to them. If you say bless you, we might as well yell 'Snot release! Snot release!'.

But if you don't say bless you, it's somehow inconsiderate. I might start a convention where when someone farts, you have to say "good health to friends and family!", and whenever someone whistles you salute.

These are cutting edge observations, right here. I've got other ones about how there's never a bus when you need one, and the differences between men and women.

I've also got some stuff about the differences between women and buses:

"One is loud, smelly, and reluctant to give you a ride - and the other one's a woman!"

I also have some insights into what it was like to grow up in the seventies. And I wasn't even born then! Hey, who remembers that Twix advert with the dancing monkey and the sentient cleaver?

I'm so fucking original it makes me want to vomit in an ironic way!

I've lost the plot, and am spiralling into a cul-de-sac of meta-observation.

I may not make any sense, but I have an excuse: I'm ill.

***

And if there's one thing I hate, it's a wry, knowing last line of a blog entry, used to tie everything up. It's so smug. I do it all the time. They enrage me...

Hmm... Although I was expecting to be annoyed, the last lines of my earlier entries are actually alright. I might just compile them. They're better than the actual blog entries. Here are some closing lines from last July:

***

Yes, you're right, I couldn't think of anything to say today. But if you don't use your computer every day, the keyboard gets all gummed up with dust and tears.

***

The seagull saga may continue. If you see me flying through the night sky with a gull strapped to each foot, it's probably me.

Probably.

***

Come back next time for my excellent idea for a series of children's books (and no, it's not just pictures of my genitals, you sicko!)

***

So I'll stick to safer, more politically-correct topics.

Tune in next time for "The Jews: Global Plague"!

***

See you in the funny pages!

Or the OBITUARIES.


***

I could make a living auctioning off closing remarks to other blog writers.

And slowly - slowly enough to bore God Herself - Angelina cocked her hat, cocked her gun, and slipped into the opticians.