Doughnuts of Comfort

The cold I had mentioned in the previous blog blew up into a full fledged affair that wiped me out for most of the weekend, so despite a monkey-barrel full of good intentions, I accomplished almost nothing except bed rest. And, unfortunately, I'm still not completely well. All of which made for a somewhat amusing fire inspection this morning. Since I live in off-campus housing at a public university, and since that university receives government money, the tenants are subject to routine inspections to ensure that the smoke detectors will detect smoke and that some college student - emulating a grizzly bear - hasn't demolished government issue carpeting or ignored mold silently breeding in the sink.

This cold, with it's ironic fevers, comes at time when I thought I was getting healthier, or at least not doing as much damage as usual with a burger laden diet and practically no exercise. I've even joined a health club - not to lose weight, but to feel better physically. The tragedy of getting older is realizing that you are no exception to health maintenance, that your body is just as prone to limitations as someone else, and that too many doughnuts of comfort - bathed in the buttery goodness of a sweet, sweet glaze - will easily transform themselves into an elephant sized arterial clog that mockingly laughs at you as you feel the first sledge hammer pound of an early heart attack.