If this be blasphemy, I plan to make the most of it. Start here:
I’m also trying to clean up my diet. Oh, I eat pretty healthfully to begin with but I panic over these things and I actually wrote NO SUGAR! NO SUGAR AT ALL for the next week on the kitchen calendar. I worry, probably needlessly, about type II diabetes (and yes, I know: it’s how you eat all the time, not just in the week before bloodwork, but I want things to look their best). I think the tv ads I see for the million medications they have, some you have to inject, some with scary sounding side effects, that has the paranoid part of my brain convinced that probably everyone is actually diabetic and just doesn’t know it yet.
Fifty percent are there or close to it, say some of the alarmists.
But here’s the kicker: WHO issues a definition of Type 2 and it’s based entirely on readings. Oh, it says “with symptoms,” but everybody and his kid sister has symptoms of some sort. One arbitrary number applies to all seven billion humanoids, regardless of age, creed, color, national origin, metabolism, or astrological sign. This is convenient for those who compile statistics, and for nobody else.
It really does feel like everything is a moving target: you do, but you could do MORE. And it just wears me out. More exercise, more vegetables, less food that actually tastes pleasurable, less time spent just relaxing. (And I’ve seen several sites lately that remind us how awful sitting is for us, and we should, I guess, stand all the time, like horses or cattle…)
And I get that I’ll eventually not be able to outrun the Grim Reaper, it’s not that … it’s the whole fact that medicine in some sectors seems to be coming back to an idea not unlike the “you sinned, so you got sick” idea of the medieval era — “You sat too much on the job, now you have diabetes.” or “You relaxed when you could have exercised, now you have heart disease” and it feels to me like unless I keep pushing, pushing, more, more, more, eventually something terrible is going to happen and someone in the health-insurance office is gonna shrug and go, “You were insufficiently pure so you are on the hook for this financially, even if you can find a doctor willing to treat you.”
“Some sectors” eventually will be all sectors, because government.
I am resigned to not living forever. However, I reserve the right to sneer at the Reaper, that scythe-wielding son of a bitch, any time I please. And should some Deputy Associate Death Panel member object to this cavalier treatment of their true god — well, chuck you, Farley, this is why you get no respect from the population, while I’m having a bowl of ice cream in any flavor other than Pumpkin Spice.