I've been very sick this week with acute asthmatic bronchial pneumonia and a highly unpleasant stomach virus of some kind. Perhaps it's been the fever, or perhaps just the break from constantly thinking about work, that has sent my poor, overburdened mind down some rather random avenues of thought.
The worst thing that Avery could possibly find in my house is my box of model supplies. Can you imagine the destructive potential of a toddler with a tube of model glue, an X-Acto knife, and a set of paints? Fortunately, it's hidden safely away and out of reach.
I envy stay-at-home parents. They generally have a small subset of my responsibilities, and I might enjoy such a relatively low-pressure existence. Then again, I'd just fill it up with my own projects anyway, but at least I'd be my own boss.
If I suddenly had a lot of money, would I quit my job? Probably not. First of all, I love my job, except for the way it dominates my existence and prevents me from doing pretty much anything else. Most likely, I'd just cut my hours down to something more manageable. Second, considering the cost of living here, the amount of mortgage and student loan debt I have, the costs of my future Ph.D., and the number of decades standing between me and retirement age, it would have to be a lot of money to free me from the need for income.
Pages that say "This page intentionally left blank" are not blank. They contain the words "This page intentionally left blank". Does that mean someone screwed up since they intended to leave the page blank but failed?
Watermelon is the most irresistible temptation in the universe and yet it's a perfectly healthy thing to eat. Does that qualify as a miracle? Proof of God's mercy, perhaps?
Why do people think that the only reason to get an education is to get a job? I'm incredulous of how many people fail to realize the amazing experiences and sweet skills that come along with a good education. The things I've learned at the various colleges and universities I've attended come into play every single week of my life, and that may or may not have anything to do with my work duties.
If I had an interstellar spaceship and could travel to the nearest inhabited exoplanet, would I try to meet the natives? Probably, but it depends on so many factors. Do I have the surveillance technology necessary to determine who might be safe to talk to? Would I even be able to communicate with them? Could I find a way to approach them that wouldn't frighten them or put myself in danger? Do I have the biology and/or equipment to survive in their atmosphere? Could I be certain that my presence would cause no harm to their world? Are these the same thoughts and concerns of visitors to our own planet?
Why do people start smoking? Surgeon General's warnings have been on cigarette packaging since the 1960's, so one would think that no literate person under the age of about 60 would be a smoker, and yet somehow they are.
Am I ever going to write a book? Every time I get a great idea for a book, it becomes obsolete or superfluous before I get past a basic outline of its contents. I guess things will have to line up just right in order for me to move forward as an author. Of course, I only want to be an author if I have something of value to contribute to the world.
