Why I Can't Write Today

Why I Can’t Write Today 5-14-05 9:13 AM

I can’t write today because I have too many worries. I am worried, for example, about my job. Only yesterday my superiors gave me a new chore, which I thought was pretty cheeky of them considering I keep busy enough trying to dodge the tasks already given me.

I must confess management generally leaves me alone. It helps that my office is downstairs; they often forget, I think, that I’m still working. Many customers think I have retired, or even possibly dead as sightings are infrequent.

I do make an appearance later in the day as I go to our branch in town at noon to provide teller relief for two hours. This is more onerous than it sounds, as sometimes I actually have to wait on a customer. The nerve of people! To come to a bank just because the sign says “Open”, and expect to be waited on! I have never understood those who say, “They just love people”. Clearly they have never met any. Or at least they’ve never had to meet the public in their line of work.

If my work wasn’t enough to worry me, there are my teeth, which are complaining every time I take anything cold. Cavities, my wife the nurse assures me. I have a checkup scheduled for next month. I will be told to come back for two additional appointments for fillings, which will only take two hours each. (Additional time has to be allotted to take pictures of the offending teeth in living color and then bounce them off the computer screen for my viewing pleasure.)

I am also worried about my hernia; this is a new worry, as I didn’t know I had one until last Thursday when during my routine checkup my doctor mentioned it casually, as though it were common knowledge. So now I worry that I will soon be doubling over in pain and will be carted off to the ER, where I will be forgotten for days before being tested with cattle prods and other new medical devices.

Health matters are constantly on my mind, as I seem to acquire new aches and pains daily. When I ask my doctor why things seem to be converging on what’s left of my body, the answer is always: “Oh, it’s just your age. It’s common for a man your age”. I love the phrase “a man your age”. I take it to mean I’m just lucky I’m not actually residing in a nursing home. Thank you, Doctor. Any more good news?

I worry about my weight as well which is strange, as I’ve actually lost twenty pounds in the last couple of years. I can’t keep my pants up, but I still have very nice “love handles” which stay no matter how many pounds I shed.

I’m actually a very lucky person: I have a wonderful wife, a devoted puppy dog, and several friends and family members who still talk to me. But I don’t waste much time thinking about these matters. I don’t have time. I have too many things to worry about. Just now while posting away a new worry has struck me: I’m worried about my birth certificate, which is incorrect (all three names). I probably won’t be able to collect Social Security unless I get this straightened out. This means of course I’ll be in the poorhouse.

No, I can’t write today. I have too many worries.