The Golden Years

I think I may have strained or sprained one or another of my internal limbic structures. A pain of no small intensity but short duration (thank you, Jeebus) just passed through my autonomic nervous system, reminding me that the human body never abandons its efforts to destroy itself—apparently with or without my conscious participation.

Now, that is not to say that I am without sin when assessing desecration of the temple, however, my recent past is literally florid with demonstrated cautions regarding omission, especially of controlled substances, be they of forbidden food groups, alcohol and non-prescribed drugs and herbs. Therefore, I expect my body to show a little more respect and regard for my efforts and leave me the hell alone.

But, no… my cartilage continues to disappear, my cholesterol zooms skyward in defiance of my low-fat regimen, my blood sugar vacillates with any whims my bastard pancreas might dictate and squamous epithelial tissue pillages my ass with the total abandon of Sherman marching through Georgia.

Therefore I am issuing a warning to my innards—cease and desist! If you don’t stop reminding me that I am approaching my sixty-first year on the planet, I will show you what real abuse is all about. I’ll drink enough alcohol, eat enough bratwurst and smoke enough pot to land your ass in the emergency room! Leave me alone and I’ll walk away clean… but continue to piss me off with these niggling little annoyances and I’ll make you think it’s 1974 again. This is your final warning… leave me alone, dammit!