Spo-fans may recall last week I have a certain medical problem. I am happy to report things seem to be getting back to normal. Perhaps it was just a matter of time; the body does a fine job healing itself when people don’t interfere or try to hasten up the process. Perhaps it was knowing I am seeing my doctor this Tuesday. It is a common experience people get better after they make a doctor appointment.

Nevertheless, I will insist The Good Doctor examine it/me/them.

TGD is a fine fellow. He tends to my psychological health more than is necessary. It is dear of him to do so. Perhaps he does this based on what I do; perhaps he is fearful I at risk of cracking up – we have mutual patients in common and if I go bonkers he will have to fend for himself.

Recently I told Someone I felt like a Coca-Cola bottle, too full with some sort of nasty fluid about to overflow and flood the world. He told me to tell TGD. You try telling your doc you feel like a bottle. As usual, he will ask if this is depression. I know all about depression and this is different. This is like a coca-cola bottle used for a purpose for which it was neither designed nor sufficient. At this point, he either shrugs it off or tells he has to go tend a raging queen with bad bunions, and I get off the hook.

Knowing him, he will recommend a different type of bottle. He is the only doctor who has ever suggested I should drink more.

So to brighten up andread some letters to the editor in the Arizona Republic. They tend to a glum view of things, although no one says they feel like a bottle.

When I am really feeling low only Ibsen makes me laugh.
This week, if you see a handsome fellow man sitting in your doctor’s office, chuckling while reading “Ghosts” and drinking a coke, do say hello to me.

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