On health.

My health has been pure shit.

I am old enough that this should worry me.  If I were younger, I’d tell myself that more booze or pills would probably solve it – oh, and go get some more sleep.  But I’m older.  And health concerns should be, well, concerning.

I have a pre-existing skin condition that I promise you have never heard of but that is disgusting.  It’s now inhabited my underarms after three surgeries in other parts of my body.  It’s a constant flow of infection and granulation and mess.  The answer is more surgery, but I won’t do it.  I don’t want to do it.

I have certain prescription medications that I constantly play games with.  I shouldn’t.  Things I’m supposed to take every day, I don’t.

There is something wrong with my stomach.  This level of upset after eating shouldn’t happen, but it does. I am not looking into it.  I don’t want to know.

I have no sex life but that is not by my choice.  I have to find unique ways to satisfy the needs without resorting to things I know I shouldn’t do.  And given my health, probably can’t do anyway.

Porn is fun.

No, it’s actually not.  It’s amusing and boring and it’s all I have.

I have headaches almost daily, I know my cholesterol is over the moon, I am pre-diabetic.

I know these things, logically I know them but I simply ignore them.

Inside, I am pretty sure I am going to have a heart attack at some point.  Too much stress, extremely shit diet, so much else.  My father had heart disease.  He had a bypass surgery when he was my age.  I am headed that way.  I know I am.

Too many cigarettes.

But how could I cope without them?

I have to be a parent and I have to homeschool a group of children and I have to manage the money and I have to give myself a sex life and I have to manage legal issues and I have to be a single parent and those are the things that I have to do.

Heart?  Shush, keep pumping.  Stomach?  Have some pepto.

When I am autopsied, they will find that I am made of cigarettes and soda.