I like to go through life
convincing myself that things aren't as dirty as they really are. By convincing
myself I don't mean an active ongoing persuasion campaign to fight against some
OCD paranoia that everything is icky. I just mean maintaining an ignorant bliss
about that whole filthy slice of reality.
So when I read articles about
thousands of mites living under my bed furiously engorging themselves on the
skin and hair bits I industrious and unconsciously shed every moment, I tend to
not follow that up with a Google search to delve into it further.
Nor do I care to dwell overmuch on
the parts-per-million of fecal matter wafting through the air of any public
facility. Whether it's precipitating off the rear ends of dogs, cats, or the
guy that just came out of the fast food establishment's bathroom, I'd rather
not know too much about it.
So I've always been fairly
conscientious about eliminating the little reminders of that sort of thing.
Like streaks on my microwave or smudges on my glasses. Those small intrusions
on my Pollyanna protective shell of imagined cleanliness remind me of all that
other not-so-nice stuff.
So it was with sadness that I
noticed an ongoing issue that needs a tissue. Swipe marks on my smartphone. You
know what I mean. That greasy streak that no matter how often you clean your
hands somehow appears on the screen of your device.
Like some oily reminder of the
piglike being you really are. Churning, boiling, and roiling through the
organic mess of life. You have an inherent amount of grease just oozing from
your thumb or fingertip. Ready to smear its ickyness on the pristine plate of
your smartphone.
Smudging your portal into the
beautiful immaculate cleanliness of the techno-digital cyberworld.
America, ya gotta love it.
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