Friday, May 26, 2006

Appointment with Myself (37)

I've made an appointment with myself for next Thursday, May 25, 2006, A. D. (after daylight). I'll see myself at 2:30 PM, as about that time I get sleepy.

When I get home, the first order of business—the main purpose of my appointment-- will be to head to the bedroom and keel over. I will not, for example, ask embarrassing questions of myself.

I will also resist jumping on the scales to learn that I am, pound for pound, a candidate for Most Improved Couch Potato.

I will refrain from asking my age, which medical people are always so curious about. I think the question is a test to see if I'm still with it. They seem to suspect that I'm already wandering around, lost in space.

If I forget my age, I can still compute it, though the answer is too absurd. (Someone who was born in 1945 and will be eligible for Social Security next year should be a dignified human being, not someone who trips over his shoes).

I will not display any curiosity about various orifices of my body; I will not at any time bend over to check my prostate. (It's fine, though invisible to the naked eye).

I will not draw blood to check any of my levels. I'll take a pass on voiding into a Dixie cup and sliding it into a slot to be snapped up by an impatiently waiting lab tech.

I will not read the Six Steps detailing how to clean up before depositing your sample. (I always ignore this; I throw away the little wet-nap that is issued with the Dixie cup, and wash up afterwards, like a normal person).

The subject of my bowels will not come up. I will not press for a home kit to take samples to be tested at a later time, perhaps by the same person who has shown such an inordinate interest in bodily fluids.

I will not suddenly decide I need additional appointments for still more tests at later dates and other locations. No tests will be ordered; and, nothing, I repeat, nothing, will be said about my colon.

I will not quiz myself about family history (they all came from Hidalgo, IL, and were once stranded on the National Trail in 1836). I will not try to remember the ages of my siblings or what childhood diseases they may have had. (Will pass over the chicken pox epidemic of 1919).

After a nice nap I will wake up, look at the clock, and roll back over. My appointment with myself will end only when I'm ready for it to end.

I will not, while awake, brood over life's mysteries, or while asleep, dream about crazy things. I will keep my brain in neutral; I will not bother myself with routine chores, which are after all, routine. I will make a detailed "to-do list", suitably highlighted, numbered, dated, and ready for immediate shredding.

If I have any other, less important appointments coming up, I will not brood about them. I’ll mark them as play dates, or party days. I’ll wear my cowboy outfit complete with cap guns just to indicate what I think of them. When someone calls me Mr. Dunne, I’ll enjoy the questioning note in their voices when they realize I'm sixty going on six.

If, at a later time, I decide I'm not having any fun, I’ll make another appointment with myself.


gloria said...

Hey, ol' buddy, ol' pal, ol'sock,
I found a real prize at a rummage sale last weekend. A book by Jules Feiffer. I confess that I had not really known much about him before this. Guess I'd seen his cartoons now and then, but not being a big reader of the Village Voice, I guess I'm kinda out of the loop. He wrote/cartooned for them for 42 years. I checked out his website--he's into all kinds of things, plays, TV, kids books.

Anyway, the book I found (which turns out to be rather rare!) is titled, Sick, Sick, Sick, A Guide to Non Confident Living. Well, I said to myself, this is something Danny would appreciate. Don't take that the wrong way. You know what I mean. It's just that a lot of your columns are along those same lines in style and content.

It's his first book, pub. in 1958--collected cartoons. Very droll, very dry, very funny. The first one features a little boy who feels that he's wasted his life because he hasn't learned to play ball yet. The boy is eleven. See what I mean? Very funny.

Just wondering if you've heard of him and what you think?
Sorry to take up so much room on your comments. But I haven't stopped by for a while. Love the appointment column. What a novel approach. ((envy))


Paul Molyneux said...

Praise the Lord and pass the pillow! You have convinced me to make appointments with myself.

BTW - I have a blog now...same address as yours except substitute pmolyneux.


Luana said...

Hi, Danny! We really miss you at the WWH. I've got some good news. I've learned to post images and links on my blog! Cool, huh? Anyway, wanted to find out how you are and encourage you to come back to the group. We miss you!

Here's my blog if you wanna take a look see at my new stuff:


Nikon said...

Great stuff, Danny, I just got up (I'm a night person), and I'm smiling away. You have no idea what a rare thing that is.
An unsolicited testimonial ( money orders are fine).
Good luck,