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7 July 2006
When you spend the day in a house alone, and sick, your brain begins to wander and you start to ask those questions people rarely think to ask.
Take the couch, for example. Our first night in Santa Barbara, I slept on the couch. Other nights I slept in the car because it was more comfortable; Walt slept on the couch. During the daytime, since I was sick, I lay on the couch and napped off and on.
Now...this question has actually occurred to me before, at my mother's house.
Why is it that you can sit on a couch, you can nap on a couch, you can lounge on a couch while you watch television, but if you decide to sleep on the couch overnight, you have to put a bed sheet under you to protect the couch?
Does your body have more cooties at night than it does during the day?
Nobody leaped up to demand I put a sheet under me all those hours I napped, but as soon as night came around, a sheet was required to protect the couch.
I don't understand.
I also don't understand studies about cell phone use in cars. They have now determined that any cell phone use, whether hand held or hands free results in a higher accident risk. It is the conversation, apparently, which impairs the driver's reflexes.
Does this mean that we should eliminate car pool lanes and insist that everybody drive solo in a car? Is a cell phone conversation more distracting than, say, a lively political discussion with the passengers in your car? Or trying to get a fussy kid to sit down and stop crying?
Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't have a conversation on a cell phone while driving on the freeway, but it does seem odd that suddenly we have all these studies that supposedly prove that even hands free cell phone use is dangerous, when people have been driving around talking to passengers in their cars ever since cars have been on the road.
Something else I don't understand.
I also wonder about when snoring got to be such an embarrassing thing.
My mother insisted she had not napped on our ride down to Santa Barbara and I pointed out that she had been snoring. Softly snoring, to be sure, but snoring. She was terribly embarrassed and said that she hoped she hadn't been too loud.
I mean--what is snoring? Snoring is the act of breathing through the open mouth in such a way as to cause a vibration of the uvula and soft palate, thus giving rise to a sound which may vary from a soft noise to a loud unpleasant sound, according to Wikipedia.
Of course there is snoring and there is snoring, but everybody snores, to some degree at some time or other. I know people who are adamant that they never snore. Do they stay awake to listen? If you claim to have heard them snoring, they flatly deny it. They DO. NOT. SNORE.
What's the big deal with snoring? Why is it something to giggle nervously about and hope that nobody noticed you snoring? or to get angry if someone hints that perhaps they heard you snore?
I admit I snore. Sometimes I snore rather loudly. Fat people snore more loudly than skinny people, I think. I can remember frequently falling asleep in the car, snoring, and waking myself up because the noise was so loud.
OK--that was embarrassing.
I don't know if I do that any more--snore that loudly. But I don't wake myself up doing it any more. I'm sure, after this entry is read, that I will hear about how loudly I snore these days.
These are the sorts of thorny issues that my fevered brain dealt with over the weekend. I came to no conclusions. I'll keep you posted.
PHOTO OF THE DAY
Ned and his godparents, Gerry and Dick.