One of My Biggest Fears

This is going to sound impossibly paradoxical, but one of my biggest fears these days is the fear of becoming a complete hypochondriac. To add to that paradox, I’m going to the doctor tomorrow and talk to him about it. I’m going to the doctor for other reasons too, of course. I would not be concerned about becoming a hypochondriac if I weren’t going to the doctor for some illness, and illness that in all likelihood is imagined. The specific reasons why I’m going to the doctor tomorrow are that I have been having some mild discomfort in the gallbladder area (I looked up its location on the Net), and I have a pea-sized lump in my groin. The mild discomfort is probably nothing more than a muscle strain, and the pea-sized lump is undoubtedly a harmless cyst. But put them together and use some anxiety-based inventiveness and you can come up with some kind of cancer. I know I did. I can imagine someone saying, “He had this little ache that he thought was nothing, but darn if it wasn’t cancer.”

Yeah, my biggest hypochondriacal fear is cancer. The cancer has got to be some fatal variety. Why fear a cancer that cannot take your life? If I have a headache that is something other than the standard frontal headache, I immediately think I have a brain tumor. I worry about cancer of the pancreas too. That’s generally fatal. To a lesser degree I have fears of liver, stomach, and bladder cancer. Any kind of pain, mild or severe, in the appropriate area, and I know it’s a sign of cancer of that region’s vital organ.

Another fear of mine is ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease. I know I have ALS when an object accidentally drops out of my grasp. I figure I’m losing strength in my hands and that can only be ALS, or so I believe. Another thing that will do it is a few seconds of slurred speech. That’s another potential symptom of ALS. I ought to know, my hypochondria forced me to do the research.   

This hypochondria is pretty nasty in its own right. There are days when I do not have a bout with some imaginary affliction, but there are days when at various times I will swear I have two or three terminal illnesses. In the morning it might be stomach cancer. In the afternoon it’s a brain tumor. By that evening I’ve got the first symptoms of ALS. This is hard on me. It’s just not a lot of fun. Fortunately I have a sense of humor about it. I’m additionally fortunate that a sense of humor is not a symptom of a fatal disease; at least none I’ve been able to find. But I’m sure I’ll keep looking.      

I Want Assisted Living Now (by guest blogger Cecil Tackett)

Cecil Tackett

I’m only 44 years old but I’m looking forward to having assisted living. As soon as possible I’m going to an assisted living facility. But I’m not going to just any assisted living facility. No sir. I’m going to one that has nothing but gorgeous women doing the assisting.

I can picture the place now. It will be great. I’ll have one honey helping me out of bed in the morning, and another bringing me breakfast. Then I think I’ll get a deep massage by some super hot girl named Lola or Amber or Heather. Cripes, I can almost feel her slender fingers now, gently rubbing my back as I lie there limp. Following the massage, I’ll have yet another babe bring me lunch.

If I don’t take an afternoon nap, I’ll have some stunning doll push me around the grounds in a wheelchair. I can walk, but why should I use my legs when a dazzling dame can push me in a wheelchair? And of course I’ll have still another girl bring me dinner. If she is really a knockout, I’ll have her feed me. Yeah, some beautiful woman feeding me pork barbecue and crepe suzettes.

I’m saving the best for last. Sometime in the evening I’m going to have two sweet babes giving me a bath. One will be soaping my body while the other is giving me a shampoo. They will have fun doing it. The girls will do a lot of giggling. I think I’d want yet another girl to towel me off, sprinkle on the talcum powder, and then help me pull on my pajamas.

So yeah, that’s my thoughts on assisted living. If you ask me, it sounds pretty good. But I don’t want to wait until I’m 80 when I can no longer enjoy it. I’m ready to enjoy it now. Maybe this Obamacare can help me out. I’ll have to go to their website.      

Preserving Via the Net

One of the nice things about the internet that doesn’t get enough notoriety is that whole groups of people can stay in contact with each other through the years. It doesn’t really require much effort. It might take a little work to find the people, but once that’s done, it’s easy street.

This year my high school class is having its 45^th reunion. I keep in contact with about two dozen of them, albeit this contact might be only once or twice a year. I know of the whereabouts of well over one hundred classmates, although some of them are now underground, so to speak. Forty years after they graduated, I’m not sure if my parents could have recalled the name of a single schoolmate. As far as I know, my mom and dad lost track of all their high school chums the day they graduated and got their diplomas.

My last blog entry someone actually left a comment, believe it or not. You can go read it if you want. The comment was written by some idiot named Bob Sayre. I went to high school with this dingbat. Both Sayre and I were no more than 18 years old then. Now we’re 62. We were not best of buddies in high school. We did not hang-out together. I never went to Sayre’s house after school, and he was lucky enough never to have gone to mine. But we were solid casual friends. We would occasionally bark wisecracks at each other in various classrooms. Now all these years later -45 years, to be exact- we are doing the same thing via the internet.

People can complain about the internet, how it has its hate sites and how it oozes pornography, but in most respects the Net is pretty cool. Just take Sayre and me for example. All of these years later two morons are still ribbing each other. The internet changes many things, but it also works to keep some things the same, which is not an altogether bad thing. 

Now, I'd go back and reply to Sayre's comment, but I have already called him an idiot and a dingbat. If I say much more, that asswipe will start whining.    

Some Final Zingers

For a few years starting when I was in about the fourth grade and ending when I was in the seventh grade, I had to watch out for a bully who lived down the street. This wariness occurred over 50 years ago. His name was Bob Talbot and he was the older brother of one of my pals, Gene Talbot. One time Bob put chewing gum in my hair and then to extract it, gave me an extremely ugly scalp-job. On another occasion he held me out the second floor window of his family’s house by my ankles. I did not do anything wrong, I was just smaller than Bob. It was the very definition of “bullying”. I was saved from all the duress when the Talbots moved away.

My older sister, G.G., knew Bob too. They were classmates. She and Bob got along, more or less, but she knew that Bob was a bully. When the Talbots moved away, my sister lost contact with Bob for the better part of forty-five years. Then thanks to things like the internet, Bob reemerged. She talked to him a number of times over the last few years and actually met with him now and then. I, on the other hand, had no such desire. I still saw him as a bully, although due to the passing of time, he and his past bullying have long since become a source of humor.

Anyway, Bob died a few days ago. He had no known illness, he apparently just keeled over. My sister called me yesterday and gave me the news. She was kind of saddened, I think. To me Bob’s death was just more evidence of both the passing of time, and my own mortality. I felt no remorse. In fact, I joked with my sister over the phone about Bob’s demise. I told my sister that I ought to go to the funeral so I can hang Bob’s body out of his casket by its ankles. It was not said maliciously. It was said jokingly and in humor. I said a few other silly things concerning Bob’s passing, all in jest. They were just a few final zingers. To be honest, I think Bob has them coming.