The bed is adequately made, the piles of useless papers I don't feel comfortable throwing away yet are neatly stacked, the dishes are drying, and the shades are drawn to equal heights, and a sneaking suspicion  that I may be what some call "anal retentive" is growing like a late afternoon shadow.

Recently I was discussing my peculiar eating schedule with my friend, Ted.  I related to him the necessary times at which I take meals, in order to prevent weakness or bad moods, when I noticed a disgusted expression of utmost admiration on his face.  Soon it wasn't just dinnertime we touched upon, but the naps I  find time for every Monday/Wednesday (being rather tuckered after dance class), and my habit of waiting until at least 9:30 on Weekend evenings before heading to the bar for (rather specifically, I'm afraid) a shot of Clan McGreggor and a pint of Pabst Bluest Ribbon, except on Thursdays when I sometimes indulge in one or two Vodka tonics.  

"Has it always been like this?" Ted asked, and I felt as though he was being polite  not saying, "Have you always been like this," which rings of freakdom, an accusation of weirdness.  

"No," I replied, and since that moment I've been thinking... Have I?

Not clean, or responsible, certainly not.  Even now, by many standards I am neither - but have I always been a creature of habit,  a slave to routine?  Maybe.

What terrible phrases.  Do they not imply that I am nothing better than a feral beast, host of urges and lacking will, lacking freedom?  Do they not imply that joy is bursting into flames, a paper airplane riding wildly a sudden stream of rain?  

The mountains of Kauai: these are beautiful mountains.  So lush and primeval, the imagination itself has no greater wilderness.  Jurassic Park, TV's Lost, a hundred movies and programs seek to capture these unknown forests for "slaves of routine" to marvel at, and I saw these mountains with my own two eyeballs, lucky me.  They were beautiful.

Spring Break Vacation Blog Dos!

After five carefree nights, the first stab of apprehension hit me today as I blew off plans to do homework, and then blew off homework for new plans.  I guess the joy of vacation begins to wear off exactly at the half-point - when the majority is behind you, the fear you have not made good use of it produces mild anxiety (though I've done a damn of rocking out thus far, and have no intention of quitting now).

Spring Break Vacation Blog Uno!

Day 1 and feelin' good.  Maybe I'll have a strawberry daquari.  But remember: vacations are like weekends;  the dread of going back to school/work/responsibility can ruin a Sunday.   

Question:  How long before the inevitable weight returns?  Three days?  Four? 

I'll let you know.

The Epic Struggle Between Art and Science Continues!

I wrote a short poem about one of many potentially disturbing problems to come out of the information age.  

Doctor Do-it-Yourself

The online medical

Diagnosis website

Offers worst-case scenerios:

Hermits and witches

With no common sense-

They chose not to seek

Help

Until they were rare specimens,

Wonderful abominations, spectacles

For the Journal Circus.

I’m looking for examples

Of skin cancer (it’s not in my family)

But a mole behind my ear is alive in my mind,

And my urologist father says, “Get it checked.”

I compare it to these fists of steaming pustules on

The necks and noses of the anonymous (dead), contributers

To a growing community of hypochondriacs, 

a new type of Mildew to research online.

 

 

 

6 Months to Live

"If you were told you had six months to live, what would you do?"    

"Wait, in six months I suddenly drop dead, or do I have cancer, of what?  Am I sick?"

Professor Welkowitz rolls his eyes, explains the parameters.  Six months feeling healthy, one week in hospice, then ker-plunk.  Dead as a doornail.  

Everybody is talking about what they would do:  Rob a bank, try heroin, travel. 

"I'd probably be really depressed," I say.     

This scenario, you just can't imagine it.  Especially because nobody just drops dead from a symptomless disease.  That only happens in shitty movies.  In those movies, people do all the cliche things you'd expect them to.  They travel, because travel is associated with wisdom, and everybody wants to have a revelation before they die.  This person, they contact their son or daughter, the one they haven't spoken to in years.  It's a wrap-up.  An ending, so life can better resemble a storybook.  

In class, people are laughing and talking about this and that thing they always wanted to do.  They aren't thinking about what they would do with six months to live.  They're thinking about what they would do if there weren't any consequences.