Tweets show why I don’t social network

Jeff Kaley

WAURIKA — Hello to my “friends” out there in Social Networking Land. Let’s tweet awhile.

It’s 7:30 on Thursday morning and I’m dragging myself out of bed. I have the Mother of All Sinus Infections and my head is throbbing.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I blow my nose for the first time, which sets off a mucus flow that rivals any gusher Ol’ Spindletop ever emitted. I go through a dozen tissues trying to flush out the gunk that’s built up over night.

Finally, I put on my robe and go to the kitchen. I open the fridge and pull out the orange juice jug, then I get a glass from the cabinet and fill it.

Semi-staggering across the living room, I reach down to pet Wendy the cat, who rolls over onto her back. This brings my hand in contact with Wendy’s belly, which causes her to start biting and scratching, because that’s what she does when you touch her belly.

Moving to the den, the other cat, Lou, is lying on his blanket atop a stack of boxes, which is where he spends a lot of the day. I scratch Lou’s chin a little, which he likes, and I ask, “How you doin’ this mornin’, big fella?”

Lou says, “Murrr.”

The morning pills are lined up on a table, so I take a mega-antibiotic, and I use the orange juice to wash down some vitamins and a St. Joseph’s 81 aspirin. There’s a history of heart problems in my family.

Sitting down on the couch, I grab the remote and turn on the TV. First, I go to the Weather Channel to check the forecast. It’s 47 degrees, but it’s going to reach 62 degrees by afternoon.

I grab a tissue and unleash another load. I wonder: Where the heck does all this stuff come from? Do people have a snot gland? If so, where’s it located?

Switching to CNN to see if the world survived the night, I light the first cigarette of the day. Sure, it’s dumb, because — did I mention? — there’s a history of heart problems in my family, and I do have the Mother of All Sinus Infections. But I also have a nicotine monkey on my back that’s screaming to be fed.

Of course, the smoke further irritates my sinuses, which means I’m reaching for more tissues. I think, “Too bad you don’t have stock in Kleenex.”

It’s now 8 a.m., so I go to the kitchen for a first cup of coffee, then I sit down at the computer in the living room and check my e-mails.

Hmmm, one of my cousins has sent eight messages that contain political stories and columns from several newspaper and magazine Web sites. All of them are ripping the proposed Obamacare health plan and/or asserting the Democrats are destroying capitalism and turning the country into the Soviet Union.

My cousin’s intent on converting me to conservatism, but I ain’t buyin’ it. Besides, it’s too early to get into a political froth. Instead, I check out the blogs my father-in-law and his wife write each day.

Fortunately, there’s a box of tissues next to the computer. Blow, blow, blow. A few more deposits so gross looking that I’ll never be able to eat lemon pudding again. I toss the empty tissue box away. Another dead soldier.

Back to the kitchen for another cup o’ java and a couple Tylenol, because my head’s about to explode.

It’s now 8:30 a.m., so I go to the bathroom for the morning ritual.

After softening my beard with hot water, I lather up and start shaving. But while dragging the razor across my face, I open a gash on my chin and start bleeding like that cow the Montagnards slaughter in Apocalypse Now.

Trying to stem the bloody torrent, I grab a styptic pencil and wipe it across the wound. Big mistake. It’s like pouring acid on an open blister and my eyes start to tear up.

Since there are strategically-placed tissues near by, I snag one and rip off a piece, and stick it on the gash. I think: Yeah, that’s gonna look nice at work — people will think I tried to commit suicide through shaving!

Touching a tissue prompts another impulse to blow my nose. I do so, but when I look up and see myself in the mirror, I realize when you’re having the Mother of All Sinus Infections, a mustache isn’t practical.

OK, “friends” out in Social Networking Land, have you had enough of these yucky, blow-by-blow tweets on how my Thursday started?

Do you see why I don’t have a Twitter account? And aren’t you glad I don’t?

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