the organ recital

W-h-h-h-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-n-n-n-e!

Yesterday I was walloped with a landslide of fatigue accompanied by various aching body parts. Doing anything carried with it a ramped-up degree of difficulty. I worked hard not to, but eventually succumbed and went to bed at 8:30.

The only cause that seemed to make much sense aside from advancing age was a fish-oil prescription my doctor had handed me as a means of expressing his concern about my cholesterol. The prescription was a last-ditch effort the curb cholesterol ... previous attempts in the chemical realm of stattins had led to similar aches/pains/lassitude reactions.

Anyway, I'll knock off the fish oil today and try not to be too gloomy about my wussy inability/disinterest in doing sensible things like modifying diet, getting exercise and stopping smoking.

I wonder if it's true for others: At a certain age, good advice becomes too burdensome. First, it presumes it is 'good' and then, perhaps the same thing differently expressed, it fails to address a question asked in curiosity rather than despair: for what?