My body is like a car that hasn't had an oil change in a VERY LONG TIME but runs just fine thank-you-very-much so "put that George Foreman grill back where it belongs pal"!
Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about. And furthermore, you know who you are.
Most of those who dare to claim oil-change-diligence do so only AFTER they learned it the hard way.
Most people can think of at least one car they royally abused in their wanton youth.
The typical case involves a hormone-blinded pubescent, driven to neglect the maintenance needs of their vehicle (or God forbid, their mom's car) so they can use the cash they saved to buy enough gas, beer, and cigarettes to last the weekend and then drive all over town to pick up enough friends to break a Guiness world record.
Even the Diabetes Association won't pick up your red chevette after that.
ahem
The typical person treats their body the same way...
Except instead of saving money, it's more about being in denial - of your age, your mortality and most of all, the knowledge that you will have to devote some time (and give up some things) to maintain a status quo of general health.
But deny we do...
And just because no little light goes on to warn you it's time for an oil change, doesn't mean you don't need one.
Today, as I sat at my new acupuncturist's office, pen poised, ready to fill out my health complaint form I thought to myself;
You know I don't really need this appointment considering I've been going to the gym, but it did take me three months to get in, so I might as well follow through and write shit down. After all, I've got fifteen minutes to kill and this is going to take me all of FIVE - if I write slowly AND use good penmanship AND pause thoughtfully, AND use complete sentences.
sigh. WHATEVER. Quit your internal whining and just do it.
scribble scribble scribble.....pause....jot jot jot....pause.... jot some more.... feel beads of sweat begin to form... write more frantically..... aw to hell with my penmanship....! weep quietly.... completely and utterly defeated...
Twenty minutes later, I hear my name.
"Ms. Alexander, the doctor will see you now".
I look up at her with the same wild look a raccoon has when it's been caught eating garbage."But I don't have enough time! You people didn't give me ENOUGH TIME"!
She smiled at me sympathetically as if she'd seen all this before, then looked down at the illegible chicken scratch on my page.
What started out as elegant calligraphy turned into what looked like someone's last will and testament written by a gangrine-infested hand using a piece of charcoal while clinging to life on driftwood in the open sea.
"Don't worry, you can explain it all to the doc when you see her."
Or, I thought to myself, I could high tail it out that door right now and no one would be the wiser...
But like someone who knows they've gone too far, there was no turning back now.
Head hung low, I walked the green carpet to her office and sat patiently, reflecting on the bad deeds I had done....
If only I had changed the oil in my car...
