Another Confession: The Physical

I am writing this post from within the playroom. It doubles as an office. Most of the time it is a great place to work, except when the kids are home. Of course when they are home it is hard to work anywhere. Those little rascals have a way of finding me, no matter what I am doing. Not that I am complaining, it is nice to see their smiling faces.

The playroom serves as good motivation for me. If I find myself down or at all depressed I can change my mood simply by standing up. With one step to the left or right I can virtually guarantee that I will step on a toy. Doesn’t matter whether the room has been cleaned or organized, I always manage to find the one toy that didn’t make it back to where it belongs.

And as a bonus it always manages to inflict an inordinate amount of pain. Whatever it is, there is a guarantee that it will feel as if someone has taken a vice grip to tender parts of me.

Fun stuff, stepping on a toy. Even better when they break. Not only do I get to enjoy the physical pain, but I get a little mental action too. Woohoo.

I imagine that some of you are wondering if I am ever going to get to the confession. Well, keep your shirt on, I am almost there. The whole point of talking about the kids is to say that I often speak to them about why it is important to take care of themselves and how there is no reason to be afraid of the doctor.

Apparently I don’t like to listen to my own advice because I haven’t had a physical in 3.5 years. Yes, 3.5 years. It doesn’t feel like it is that long and given that I was given a clean bill of health the last time I shouldn’t worry.

Last time around the doc looked at me and said that if I dropped a few pounds and kept doing what I was doing it would be unlikely that I’d ever have to see him. Since then I have dropped those few pounds and because I like to be clean I picked them back up again.

For good measure I dropped them again and picked them up a few more times. I am not morbidly obese, not even close. But the rules of the blog dictate honesty and that requires an admission. I don’t particularly like the way that I look.

The dude staring back at me looks like a 40 year-old man who has a mortgage and a few kids. Ok, I resemble that remark because it is an accurate description of me. I am all of those things.

But I don’t feel like I should be. I am not old. I am barely out of school, really it is not 2009, it is 1999 and I am partying like it. The suits in the closet fit me, you know, the ones that I wore in college. And that tuxedo I bought because I went to all those formals, well it fits me too.

Sigh, I can’t pull that off without drugs. None of those things fit me anymore, not the way that they should. Damn ego. Damn that fragile male ego, it irks me.

Just before I turned 40 people started making comments about the need to go see a doc because I am in the heart attack years now and didn’t I know that my father had one. True, he did have a major heart attack. Of course he was 62 and never close to being in the kind of shape I am in now. I still have two grandparents, both 95.5 and a third who lived to just short of 92.

I think that the good genes outweigh the bad.

Of course none of that really matters because my not going is idiotic. Yes, I am an idiot. So you ask what am I waiting for. Why haven’t I made an appointment yet. Would you believe that I am waiting for my good friend Godot to join me.

As soon as shows up I will be happy to accompany him. We can do this together.

Ok, that is dumb. I don’t have an answer. I don’t have an excuse other than I just haven’t done it.

One more silly confession before I go. Sometimes I think that I am going to die young and other times I am convinced that I am going to outlive everyone. More often than not I expect that I will, outlive everyone that is.

G-d has a sense of humor and he likes to play with me. It would be in line with all of the other stuff to let me hang around long enough to see everyone come and go.

Or maybe not.

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