This essay is supposed to be about the things I like to do.
Well, right now I don’t feel like doing anything.
I don’t feel like going to get my teeth cleaned tomorrow, and I certainly don’t feel like getting a dental x-ray.
I don’t feel like going to bed, because my right foot tingles. My left foot isn’t that great, either, and my left hand is uncomfortable because my recently operated-upon trigger-finger is still swollen, and my Dupuytren's contracture is acting up.
I don’t feel like cutting out fried and fatty foods just because I may get another gallbladder attack if I indulge.
I don’t feel like watching any more TV news shows – EVER.
And, I didn’t feel like half a Tylenol PM was enough – so I swallowed another half a pill.
And I don’t feel like writing a happy essay.
There. Now I feel a bit better.
I guess I am writing about something I like to do (once in a while): complain.
Mr. Ebsen may be contacted at robertebsen@hotmail.com.
