March 29, 2005
ah man.
I had a doctor's appointment today. Most people go to the doctor. They're supposed to go to the doctor. Supposed to go meaning that it is in their interest to get the annoyance over now and quickly rather than later and in a malingering manner. I subscribe to that anyway. Much better to deal with it now than with it and its consequences later on.
Having said that, I came out in pretty good shape. I lost a couple of pounds (and don't plan on looking for them), was praised for wearing my seatbelt and not smoking (and I haven't in a while. At least I don't think I have...), and am now up to date on my tetanus shot.
Oh my! Does the excitement never end?! No! It doesn't! Does it?! Exclamation point!
Nevertheless, the doctor gets me down. Nothing's perfect. Not even me.
BUT! I do have Oscar Wilde's writing in front of me. There's not a lot better than Oscar Wilde to shake off the blues! Here's a relevant one:
I only care to see doctors when I am in perfect health; then they comfort one, but when one is ill they are most depressing.
Oh oh! And one about my affection for tobacco and alcohol:
One regrets the loss even of one's worst habits. Perhaps one regrets them the most. They are such an essential part of one's personality.
And to go with that:
One must accept a personality as it is. One must never regret that a poet is drunk, but that drunkards are not always poets.
And one more to go, tangentially, with that one:
We are born in an age when only the dull are treated seriously.
And finally, my darlings, a diagnosis no one can overcome.
Thinking is the most unhealthy thing in the world, and people die of it just as they die of any other disease.
I'd better call the doctor back. I didn't tell her about that last bit...is there a vaccine?
