It’s Time to Get Ill

“I haven’t been this sick in years.”

I recalled thinking this at some point in the middle of
the night this past Mother’s Day, as I shuffled down the hallway of my home
wrapped in a blanket like I had just been pulled out of the icy waters of the
Atlantic Ocean by the Coast Guard after my vessel had become property of the
sea by means of shipwreck.

I had once again set the bar for incredibly romantic
gestures by getting sick as a dog on Mother’s Day, and not only needing to be
quarantined in a room full of blankets, heating pads, and orange juice, I also
needed to be coddled with the tender loving care that only a mother could give.

My timing was once again impeccable, and in hindsight, I
wouldn’t have been surprised if my wife hadn’t put the pillow over my face to
put me out of my misery instead of giving me extra lumbar support while I ate
my lunch. 

I am miserable when I am sick, and though I am sure that
most people are too, I tend to be a bit too dramatic, like a Shakespeare in the
Park actor who wants expects the crowds to hang onto their every monologue
and/or soliloquy.

Though I realize that this is a tragic flaw, it’s tough to

work on such a problem, when you rarely fall ill.  Usually, my time in the sick bay lasts about one full day, and I

am revitalized in an unusually fast period of time.  It’s almost as if germs are not permeating through my skin or I’m

like Bruce Willis’ character in that movie “Unbreakable.” 

Yet, when you are lying there and you feel like your head
has been placed into a vice by some member of the Sopranos cast for not paying
your debts or simply not catching the last few episodes, you don’t feel
anything close to indestructible or unbreakable. 

I realize that though I will probably never hit the
lottery, score a hole in one, or have a pint with Shane McGowan, I am a pretty
lucky guy in the grand scheme of things, and my health record I guess is a
prime example. 

When you are a kid, and you get sick, it’s like a vacation
with a cough.  It’s almost as if a fever
and frequent vomiting is a small price to pay for not having to go to school,
as taking a sick day from work is just as gratifying for the first day or two.

By the third day of being sick, you start to feel like you
are getting bed sores, and you undoubtedly have watched the television for a
solid 36 hours, so much so that sportswriters Jay Marriotti and Woody Paige are
arguing about how the Sopranos show is going to end in your dreams.

And you wonder why you are having trouble sleeping?

Whether tossing and turning at night, or catching up on
reading so that the sinus pain that had set up camp behind my eyes would flair
up and cause me to go into a slight Theraflu-induced coma, I was trying all
different kinds of ways to get by until my body found the right dosage of
over-the-counter meds that would inevitably be the my life saving remedy.

There is that point when no longer care about the problem
and you just want to get to the solution by any means necessary.

There are a lot of people that have reached that point in
today’s world, both within the bubble of Ocean City and outside the bubble as
well.  You can only talk about the
problems for so long until you have to start coming up with some ideas to fix
the problems.  (This is why the
Democrats keep losing elections by the way if anyone is keeping score).

I’m not just talking about the obvious gorilla in the
proverbial room  (the war in Iraq)
either.  I’ve been bickering back and

forth in what seems to be the same argument for years.  You argue mute points over and over, like

Toby Keith being the worst thing that ever happened to country music and you
never get anywhere other than in a perfect circle because you aren’t changing
anyone’s opinions (and people love singing his “boot in yer ass” songs at the
local karaoke.) 

You could be arguing republicans vs. democrats, blacks vs.
whites, boys vs. girls, shirts vs. skins, and you’d be walking that same old
argumentative circle in which points are made only to be made into
counterpoints which never actually find their mark either.

Does anyone ever give a solution anymore?

For example, I like watching European soccer, and I’m
constantly forced to stand up for why a game that routinely ends with the
victor scoring less than three goals is so appealing to the entire population
of the world except for those American guys that would prefer watching women’s
softball on the deuce.

I’ve reached a point where I refuse to get into these
conversations because it doesn’t change anyone’s opinion regardless of how
passionate or persuasive I may be concerning the subject.

In Ocean City, the condo invasion is the obvious problem,
and as so terribly shown by the Trimper Amusement situation, so are the
skyrocketing tax costs. Yet, complaining about their construction is not
selling them, nor is ignoring or denying the fact that greed and
over-development has changed the dynamic of this town, so much so that a town
landmark may have to shut its doors.

I think we should stop bickering about it, and find a
solution, for the betterment of all of us. 
Hindsight is 20/20.  A porn shop
probably wasn’t the best idea for a “family resort”, and neither was a building
a bunch of condos that the majority of families could never dream of affording.

Alas, both are here, and for the meantime, here to
stay.  Perhaps we should think of some
things that we would want to have in this town for the future, like culture,
art, and tangible family activities like Trimper Amusements.

Maybe we should put our minds to finding solutions rather
than spending so much time arguing in circles and pointing fingers at the
so-called problems.

Hey, it could be just the remedy that this town has been
looking for, or it could just be my meds talking.

Email me at domspino@yahoo.com
 

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