Snakeroot of Flourish

This morning I had my "Welcome to Medicare" physical. To paraphrase Tevye the Milkman, it's no disgrace to be on Medicare, but it's no great honor either. I found the designation kind of depressing. I had to do the "remember these three words" and the "draw a clock" activities for the first time. I know aaaalll about this from taking my parents to see doctors and having them do these cute little cognitive checks. I remembered the three words all right, and I'll probably never be able to forget them. Hamburger, banana, paper. I ask you. Could they not have come up with SOMETHING of more interest? My clock was satisfactory also. I told the doctor that soon there will be a generation that will not even know what an analog clock is. They'll be like, "What do you mean, draw a clock? My phone tells me what time it is." They'll have to get a new test.

I was honest on the questionnaire about feeling depressed fairly often. As she usually does, the doctor brightly suggested I might try drugs. So far I've declined. This time, she suggested Wellbutrin, and in a moment of weakness, I caved. Whatever. I guess it can't hurt. I can always quit again, which is what usually happens when I try someone's pet nostrum. She also asked brightly, "What are you doing for weight loss?" I replied, "Nothing. I try to eat sensibly and get some exercise. Other than that, I don't give a fuck." She laughed nervously and said "Oh, that's the depression talking." Not really. I have enough experience now to know that I will never lose weight unless I'm prepared to live on 1000 calories or less for the rest of my life. And maybe not even then. So screw it. I think, instead, I will just wait until doctors figure out a solution that works, and then maybe try that. I quite like this doctor. I know I've made her sound a bit irritating, but she's really pretty down to earth and helpful. I found out she's from the UP, and is the first person in her family ever to graduate from college. This explains why she's the kind of person I like.

The other interesting part of the visit was her assistant in training, a very large man with a black turban and an impressive handlebar mustache. I was about to say, " . . . and an impressive mustache, named Simran." But no. Ahahaha . . . you won't catch ME, former copyeditor and proofreader, that way. The mustache may have had a name, for all I know, but it was the man who was called Simran. He painlessly gave me a flu shot. He was quite majestic, and I'm sure those flu viruses would never dare stand up to him.

I forgot to relate an amusing thing that happened yesterday. I ordered two pairs of jeans that came in the mail. I tried on the first pair, and put the second in the closet without trying them on, because why would they send me two different sizes of jeans . . . . Well--Yesterday I wanted to change to a fresh pair of jeans. I unfolded the new ones. They were not even close to being my size. They were tiny pants for a petite person who was definitely not me. I was annoyed. The packing slip for returning them was already buried in the wastebasket. Then it occurred to me that they might fit the Diva. She tried them on, and they fit her nicely. I guess the universe wanted to provide a chance for me to give the Diva some new pants.

Other than that, it's been a lazy day. Lots of rain last night and this morning. Later in the day, the Diva came outside with me and helped rip up ivy and mint and weed a potential flowerbed where I want to plant some bulbs. The Sparrowhawk made us some pasta and sauce for dinner, and I got the boys to chat and laugh a little bit by talking about weird food preferences of their aunts and uncles. The roads are still flooded, so they have to stay at least one more day. We're happy.