My Brain Hurts

I have been having frequent headaches the last month or so. I don’t know what the reason might be. It could be stress from my job. It could be the fact I have cut down my caffeine intake precipitously. It could be I need new glasses. It could be the little man sitting between my ears running all the different communication systems to the rest of my body is pursuing a musical career which has him using my skull as a steel drum playing the entire Jimmy Cliff oeuvre.
I went to the eye doctor to see if my glasses needed to be adjusted. As many people have found after passing a certain age looking at small things becomes more and more difficult. It started with the tiny print on medicine bottles. Then the print in regular books became blurry. Then faces in photographs were hard to identify. Then my youngest child started to appear fuzzy.
Glasses became part of my daily life several years ago. I have upped the power more than once and the previous visit to the optometrist moved me into the wonderful world of trifocals. All of us with trifocals know the most dangerous thing in the world is no longer taunting Dick Cheney, but rather walking quickly down stairs whilst wearing trifocals. Coordinating the distance between your foot and the next step takes more algorithms and geometric theorems than NASA uses figuring the exact launch place and time so its space probe will pass the dejected former planet, Pluto.
Anyway, I decided to go to the eye doctor. I peered into a number of little machines. One of them has little fluttery blobs which indicate how good my peripheral vision is. Peripheral vision is not as important as it used to be. No longer do men have to be able to perceive as wide a field of vision in order to avoid predators. No we just use it to peer at attractive women without making it obvious to our wives we are doing so (or so I’ve heard).
If the eyes truly are the window to a man’s soul those machines have mapped out my soul pretty well. I wonder if the eye doctor sits in his office after hours and giggles at the fact the deepest essence of my being spends a lot of time contemplating whether life is truly better with an afternoon nap or a trip to Dairy Queen.
The outcome of my trip was making each sector of my trifocals more powerful. The good doctor used a poster on the wall showing the interior of a human eye to explain what was happening. He pointed to one particular place and said it was becoming thicker and less flexible as I grew older. If there was one spot I thought might be able to avoid the thickening and becoming less flexible which has struck most every place else on my body, it would be the inside of my eyeball. What’s next? A fat and creaky uvula?
Being healthy for everyone is not as easy as it used to be. When I was a kid people were always encouraged to spend time in the great outdoors. Fresh air and sunshine are just what the doctor ordered. Well, now going out in the sunshine requires SPF 37 (also known as a sweater) and the air in some parts of the world has to be chewed before it can make its way down to the lungs.
Recent reports of a scientific study on diet now calls into question a food which was previously thought to be healthy. The report stated the consumption of tofu could lead to dementia. Here, I always thought it was the other way around.
One of my best friends is a very serious vegetarian. He makes fabulous vegetarian meals. However, there was one time he served tofu hot dogs. In an attempt to be polite I tried to eat it. Then in an attempt to be polite I tried to hide it. The family dog was no help. Even he realized this meat imposter was about as enticing as cauliflower stuffed with lima beans.
Another scientific study shows spinach, even though it is a great source of Riboflavin, can lead to elephantine forearms which may be wonderful for showing off large anchor tattoos, but make it nearly impossible to find shirts which fit.
Okay, that last study about spinach. I made it up. I know it is irresponsible journalism. I hope I didn’t frighten anyone. I apologize but, I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam. Nyah, nyah, nyah.