Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Yesterday, I threatened... um, promised you that I would talk about Libertarians today. Well, you got a reprieve. Here's why.
I've told you that I write this blog at work because it is the only place where I have internet access. This is 100% true. However, like most things I tell you here, it may be true but it might not be the whole story.
I have a computer at home. It is not hooked up to the internet, so it's mainly just something that takes up space. However, if you let it take the 10 minutes it needs to warm up, you can write stuff on it and then transfer that to a disk for posting to the internet from a computer that realizes it lives in the 21st century. So, last night (while watching the Celtics finally win one of those games they should have been winning all year) I wrote a story about how I became a Libertarian.
I copied the story to a floppy, intending to bring it with me this morning. However, it is still sitting on top of my dishwasher, doing nobody any good whatsoever, which begs the question of whether it will do anybody any good once I remember to bring it with me, but I digress. So, there you have it.
In the meantime, I have been asked (by my Mom) to update you on whether or not I did break my hand the other day. I think I did, but it's getting better every day. I haven't been to a doctor about it because I hate going to doctors. No matter what you come in for, they always have a temperance lecture for you.
Two years ago, I came down with chicken pox. This was on a trip to Las Vegas. My last day in Vegas was utterly miserable. I was sweating profusely, felt weak, etc., and the ride home on the airplane was as hideous a six hours as I've ever had in my life. I piled on as many blankets as they could give me, and MY WIFE was as comforting as she could be, but I still shook and shivered and sweated through my clothes all at the same time. Absolutely hellish. Anyway, when I arrived home, we immediately got me to a doctor, to find out what the hell was the matter with me.
Some background information: this was during the time of the SARS epidemic scare.
Now, I walk into the doctor's office with a fever, chills, headache, body aches, et cetera. The doctor immediately sends me to the emergency room at Mount Auburn Hospital, and he phones ahead to tell them to give me absolute priority. I still don't know what's the matter with me, nor does MY WIFE. All we know is that I'm feeling miserable and I'm still sweating buckets.
When I get to Mount Auburn, they immediately usher me into a secluded room and have me strip down and put on a johnny. I haven't even filled out any forms, which will tell you that they thought this was serious stuff they were dealing with. People start coming in dressed in (I'm not kidding) yellow radiation suits - taking my temperature; taking blood; doing this, that and the other to try and determine just what the hell I have. In the meantime, I am now not only sweating and shivering, my face is breaking out in red bumps.
I'll cut to the chase. After three freakin' hours, and six different doctors examining me, they finally figured out that I had chicken pox. In the meantime, though, they didn't know what it was and I could have been dying from something hideous. While I'm lying there miserable and wondering if I might have some horrendous disease that's going to off me within the next couple hours, one of these dopes asks me if I smoke. I tell her yes. She says that I should quit.
What in bloody fucking hell are you telling me this for at that time? For all she knew, I was going to be dead in half a day from whatever crap I was infected with, but she has to lecture me about smoking?
And that's why I suspect I have a broken hand, but I don't know for sure and I'm willing to live with it a while and see what happens. See you tomorrow.