The older I get the more I realize just how some kind of genetic malfunction has affected my sense of right and wrong about the indoor/outdoor philosophy of life. I was raised to appreciate the glory of the great outdoors. Somewhere along the way I strayed from my childhood brainwashing. Did I say brainwashing, haha, I meant upbringing.

I am bombarded daily with the moral dilemmas that come with this affliction. Summertime is the worse time of year for people like me, who have this particular chemical imbalance.

The long hot Summer days linger, inviting everyone outside to frolic in the beaming rays of sunlight that replenish the Earth, or something like that. The lakes, ponds, rivers and other bodies of water where humans tend to dunk are teaming with life, swimmers, skiers, boaters, rafters, and other sun and fun worshipers, crazy people mostly.

Friends and family, picnics and camping, it’s all about the social sweating babeeeee. Or could it be the bugs? Maybe it’s the dirty nasty water we find out in the purity of nature. Then of course it might be the ritual early morning disorganized packing of the car, truck and camper with temporary supplies of food and sun screen along with the traditional cooler full of ice, beverages and packages of hotdogs. The hotdogs would be the best part of that scheme.

This medical problem I have, this genetic defect keeps me happily inside with my air conditioning, my weed free/bug free computer room and my husband who shares the same affliction. Saturday, July 12 2003