Writer (currently working on how we think about what makes us sick, for St. Martins). Farmer (goats, pigs, horses, many sheep). Parent/wife/daughter/person.
Grateful for antibiotics and hoping that today's trip through the Atlanta airport (on the way to Austin) isn't the introduction to yet another ten days of misery.
Maybe I'll just stop travelling and stay home forever. Because sheep and pigs can't make you sick, right?
Today I was writing about the first epidemiological transition and reading my own writing out loud, which I do often, and suddenly Siri piped up and said, "So you want me to find a rap in praise of flatbreads? Here's a song from the Sugar Hill Gang."
I am literally clueless.
Nine hundred years ago, Muslim and Christian thinkers were grappling with the question of whether it's theologically defensible to flee from an area struck by illness.
I keep thinking about this as I read the headlines today.