I Must Keep in Good Health and Not Die

Actually, I can do either. I can't do anything in between. I can't get sick. I can't get hurt. But I (preferably) can stay in good health or I can die. Anything else is right out.

I'm thinking of canceling my health insurance. I can't afford to use it. The money it would free up would ease my worried mind greatly.

When I went for my physical, the doctor wanted me to have an ultra sound done of my tummy. She wanted me to have an MRI for my back and hip. She had great aspirations for me, but the end result is that I haven't had any of that done.

And when I went to the gyn a little earlier, she wanted me to have a mammogram. I'm not having a mammogram. Because honestly, if there's anything going on in there, I don't want to know.

When I was updating the "Jingle" blog - actually, before that - it occurred to me that maybe I don't have ten years left. In a weird way, I hope this is true.

I was talking to my insurance agent today and he was nagging me about Roth IRAs and I told him, "I can't afford to retire. I can afford to work. I can afford to die. I cannot afford retirement." He laughed uneasily. No, I don't have life insurance with him. I don't have life insurance, period. What would be the point?

Of course, this all coincide with or is because of the medicine drawer running low to empty. I have to go this evening to pick up everything.

This morning when I got to work, exactly on time for once, I sat in my car in the nicely darkened parking deck. I leaned my seat back and I slept! For half an hour, but still, it amazed me that I could sleep anywhere other than the pile of mattresses with no peas under them.

Then later I was sitting at work and I realized why I have not been beating my brains out at work.

It's because I really don't give a fuck. Stock options, tranches, expirations, I really don't care. It's about as relevant to me as some rock falling into a quarry in Italy.

I realized that I haven't cared for a long, long time. Probably since Fezziwig & Co. made me walk Spanish down the hall. But I think it might have been earlier than that.

Maybe I'll care if I medicate myself.

When I see the young 'uns at work, when I see how fired up they are about dividends on expired options and how deeply they're into it, it's a nostalgic moment for me. I remember caring that much. And I remember what it got me.

No. Truthfully? I don't give a fuck. I only care as long as I can keep getting a paycheck. Maybe I'll care if I medicate myself.