Thursday, December 16, 2010


I’m sure I could never be an intravenous drug user; I’m just not that into syringes and such. And after today, I’m also certain I couldn’t even be an intramuscular drug addict (if such a thing even exists); having had the experience this morning of getting stuck five different times in two different arms by hypodermic needles, I have no doubt I’d never want to do it recreationally, or even in the name of entheogenic research.

In preparation for my trip to India, I visited the travel medicine clinic at the University of Washington and got all sorts of information about the various diseases I could conceivably contract in that part of the world and was provided with a suite of inoculations against said maladies, getting vaccinated against Hepatitis A and B, tetanus, typhoid, and polio, if I remember correctly. I could have also gone for rabies, but at something like nine hundred bucks for the full series, I decided to just opt for not getting bit by dogs or monkeys.

I guess I had no idea what a dangerous and scary place it is out there in the world; the clinic provided me with eleven pages of precautions I should consider, from not eating any food that isn’t steaming hot or dry as sand to making sure I have insurance to pay for having to be medivacced out of country following a catastrophic automobile accident.

Maybe I’ll just stay in my room for the sabbatical and simply read about India.

On the other hand, I’ve got my inoculations, and I suppose it would be a waste to waste them, so why not head east after all?

I wonder how all those British in the 19th century managed; my sense is that they got by with just fizzy gin; I guess the malaria-carrying mosquitoes are all immune to quinine these days, so that won’t work; however, maybe if I just leave out the tonic, I won’t care.


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