September 27, 2018

anal glaucoma

Dr. Brown was a somber, serious, horse-faced man with prominent balding and a longish gray beard.  He wore a dead-sensible suit each day and spoke only when necessary, with slow and deliberate and carefully chosen words.  Beneath all of this bland professional presentation, he showed his dry sense of humor one day when calling in sick.  You could hear his straight-kept face through the phone as he reported that he would not be in due to an attack of anal glaucoma.

Our secretary paused, but had to ask.  "I'm sorry you're not feeling well, Dr. Brown.  Er, what is anal glaucoma, exactly?"

Dr. Brown said, "I just can't see my ass coming in to work today."

This has been a line for posterity, a line for the ages.  

I have a severe case of anal glaucoma this morning and I'm wrestling with it.  I know I'll lose either way because this is me, but I'm wrestling anyway.

In this corner of the ring, we have my work ethic, which looks like one of those female body builders who have totally wrecked their bodies through over-development, robust to an off-putting excess.  You could ping rocks off my work ethic's washboard stomach.  And there's its sidekicks, including Guilt, What The Hell Would I Do All Day?, I Have To Leave The House Anyway, and I Need To Set A Good Example For The Kid.  They're all damned good wrestlers.

In the other corner of the ring, the contender, Anal Glaucoma.  Molly's getting spayed this morning, and Anal Glaucoma has some good team mates, including I Should Stay Here And Get Things Ready For Her, partnered with his twin brother, I Should Take Tomorrow Off, Too, Because I Can Look After Her.  Their manager, I Got A Flu Shot Yesterday And Have The Perfect Excuse Because I Can Say I'm Sick, really works with them.

And the truth is that I do feel wonky, and the muscle relaxant makes it hard to work because I'm murky, and I didn't enjoy being there yesterday because I'm not fully back on track with the lithium, and some of the wonk really does come from the flu shot.  But it's not wonky enough to excuse me from work.  I can work.  I can push through, and I know this because I've done it before.  I'm not contagious.  There is no reason for me not to work.  I do not have a good reason to lie around the house reading and dozing and leaving my co-workers in the lurch to cover for me.

The odds are fair to middling I'll overcome the A.G. and go in.  Sometimes I just start driving so it will appear to The Kid that I'm going, with the intent of waiting for his bus to leave so I can drive back home, setting the example through completely dishonest means, but more often, when I do this, I end up just driving to work out of habit, and then find myself in the parking lot without really meaning to, so I work.  I did this once when I really was sick.  They made me turn around and go back home.  I was half-delirious.

I can't see my ass going in to work today.  But we make our own future, don't we?

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