‘Tis the season for illness and I caught a good one. At 10:40 AM, I’m ready for bed. I try and stay positive, but I really hate taking days off work. The horror of the backlog…the horror.

In more interesting news, the Wife resigned from one of her jobs — she’s down to two now — and walked out with a referral for a literary agent. That’s what I love about her. She’s always there when lightning strikes.

“Each year, more than 2 million people in the United States acquire an infection during a hospital stay, and an estimated 90,000 people die from them — more than from AIDS, breast cancer and auto accidents combined.”

Source: Abcnews.com

Imagine if the auto industry had the same lobby doctors do watching their backs. I wonder how many less class action lawsuits against car manufacturers there might be. As it stands now, people get seriously sick; people go to the hospital. Risk of secondary infection because the janitor refuses to wash his hands? Never really considered that angle.

Well, where’s there’s blood, there’s money, and somewhere a lawyer is pondering a motion.

Occasionally, learning the origins of a word is an eye popping experience. One person uttered it, and another repeated it, and probably neither had the intention of growing Webster’s Dictionary. Those with English degrees call such considerations etymology. Me, I kick it vernacular. Where the hell did a word start?

Recently at a prevention conference, a DEA agent explained the meaning of the word tweaking in drug culture. Methamphetamine addicts cab focus on a single point of interest for upwards of 40 consecutive hours. If they are having sex when the high kicks in, then it’s a long night in the sack. If a television catches their attention, they might take the entire set apart, with no idea of how to reassemble it. They might piece together pages that a neighbor shredded and discarded. That’s tweaking, and its scary.

I’ll never pass a television again without thinking about a burned out meth addict chipping at it for 2 days straight, sitting on the floor, a screwdriver in their shaky hands.

Entrusting your life to another man is one thing, and sounds scary as hell because it is. Letting your father-in-law belay you up and down a thirty-five foot wall punches that trust up to a whole new level.

The Wife, a few relatives, friends and myself went rock climbing last Saturday. Much to my surprise, I enjoyed the experience. The massive facility was an indoor climbing park with a variety of routes from the very novice to the very experienced. Developing a feel for the ropes and carabiner took some practice, but once mastered, the basics are straightforward. Rock climbing just might make a good second hobby for me. I’ll go again.

Interestingly, though I have serious issues diving off boards more than twenty feet high, I had no problem looking down a thirty-five foot wall with nothing but a quarter inch rope between me and cement.

I must note that the father-in-law is in serious condition for a man in his sixties. In a side by side race to the top, I barely edged past him for the win. Let me emphasize the barely. A good reason to stick with a work-out regimen.