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Dec. 20th, 2001 07:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sanpaku_backupThe doctor called back on my voice mail-- asked me about my mother and told me she'd spoken to a cardiologist about her. She had me confused with someone else. Not on the test (necessarily) but for calling me back. I wonder if incidentally she was also wrong about the test. Doesn't really inspire a lot of confidence, this one.
Mrs. is en route to Long Island for the next few days. (Probably best to not have me around during shopping, decking the halls, etc.) On the way home from dropping her off in Providence I stopped at Sicilia's to get a Chicago pizza. It took forever and burned my lip and I had to run out because the car was parked in a no-parking-after-6-pm zone. But damn it was good.
I like food. I am not ready to accept any situation in which I have to feel about food the way I feel about money: guilt at enjoying myself the least little bit.
It's not that I haven't contemplated the fact that 30 is the time when things begin to go wrong with your body. I just have always felt like the food thing was my one recompense for being weak as a kitten and nearly blind and having no depth perception. And I liked the fact that every time I went in to the doctor's, they said, "well, your cholesterol is excellent!" That's another reason I am suspicious: it's been maybe 5 years since I had bloodwork, I think. But it's not as though I was ever in a gray area before. And I ate a lot worse then. (I remember eating 2 Entemann's donuts a day, or a big plate of Hydrox cookies and milk. I never eat things like that anymore.)
So this week has felt like a lot of shoes dropping, or maybe paying-the-piper, or chickens coming home, or whatever nasty metaphor you want to use for problems refusing to stay deferred forever.
At least I found some time the other night to watch A Night at the Opera. Tonight is mostly lesser Marx Bros. movies, but it is so cool that TCM is doing a week of their stuff. Every time you watch those films you find joke you'd forgotten about that's just great.
Mrs. is en route to Long Island for the next few days. (Probably best to not have me around during shopping, decking the halls, etc.) On the way home from dropping her off in Providence I stopped at Sicilia's to get a Chicago pizza. It took forever and burned my lip and I had to run out because the car was parked in a no-parking-after-6-pm zone. But damn it was good.
I like food. I am not ready to accept any situation in which I have to feel about food the way I feel about money: guilt at enjoying myself the least little bit.
It's not that I haven't contemplated the fact that 30 is the time when things begin to go wrong with your body. I just have always felt like the food thing was my one recompense for being weak as a kitten and nearly blind and having no depth perception. And I liked the fact that every time I went in to the doctor's, they said, "well, your cholesterol is excellent!" That's another reason I am suspicious: it's been maybe 5 years since I had bloodwork, I think. But it's not as though I was ever in a gray area before. And I ate a lot worse then. (I remember eating 2 Entemann's donuts a day, or a big plate of Hydrox cookies and milk. I never eat things like that anymore.)
So this week has felt like a lot of shoes dropping, or maybe paying-the-piper, or chickens coming home, or whatever nasty metaphor you want to use for problems refusing to stay deferred forever.
At least I found some time the other night to watch A Night at the Opera. Tonight is mostly lesser Marx Bros. movies, but it is so cool that TCM is doing a week of their stuff. Every time you watch those films you find joke you'd forgotten about that's just great.
