Not sure if I overreacted about the local newspaper’s choice of story placement (see last journal entry). I did get a reply from the editor two days later, though. Here was his response:
In some way, I can understand his viewpoint, but we each had a miscommunication about what our message intent was. My concern was something that the mousepox article barely touched upon: the ability to use the exact same research to alter the smallpox virus, which humans can get, into a supervirus. My stance remains; more exploration of the ethics and social code behind creating “superviruses” needs to be done in public forum. What we’re asking ourselves is if God can create a rock so large that even he can’t lift it. And right now, we’re creating.
Ok, on to current news:
I’ll be taking friday off (using some well-deserved vacation time) to head up to TRF a day early. Will be meeting my Texarkana friends and their entourage at the TRF campgrounds around noon to set up camp and begin festivities. The weather doesn’t look that fantastic, the group is smaller than expected (thanks to some last-minute backouts, dorks), and I’ve not been feeling my best this week, but it may end up a decent weekend. I can hope, at least.
Healthwise: monday, I suffered a sharp pain in my left kidney. It struck once and disappeared. My kidneys have been kinda tender for a few days, so I’m overdosing on water and trying to eat and drink right. So far I’ve noticed nothing else wrong — my “waste” is normal, in the normal amounts, no burning, no discoloration, nothing. Totally odd. I think after this weekend I may see my doctor if it persists.
Cardio-wise, last night I started tweaking out with something resembling hypoxia. I’m not a doctor, so I can’t make any diagnosis, but in my hypochrondriac research online it’s what it feels like. Google it sometimes. My smoker’s lungs breathe too shallow, especially when I lay down for bed. I just start freaking out. Today, after work, it was a bit worse, and it’s the head-rush-and-spin with the lung-tweak and the steady, hard heartbeat that only a smoker could love, and I hate it. I want to quit so badly. I need to. Again. For good. For life.
I’m a fucking addict.
On a lighter note, my roomate and I just extended our lease on the apartment for another sixth months. We love the apartment, and the feeling of semipermanence that living somewhere for over a year can afford, and this time around the rent is fifty bucks cheaper (to a grand total of $645/mo), but the tiresome situation with the stupider-than-trailer-trash neighbor and his fondness for “bass cars” is growing long in the tooth. I’m not sure how many people in this tiny complex appreciate his frequent gifts of “Skrew’d music”, and I most certainly don’t appreciate his and his girlfriend’s constant shouting, yelling, and loud thumps next door, but it appears to me the landlord, tho we like him, might be a little too soft on dealing with many complaints. Aside from calling the police on something that could quiet down as quickly as it flares up, what can we do?
Daily bothers, daily pains, daily regrets. I’m gonna take a “chill pill” and go to bed. G’nite, all.