Everything is wrong with me
Thursday, February 03, 2005
crap and crap again
I am having an EXTREMELY stressful day at work today. I don't want to get to into it lest I start throwing some elbows, but it's not good.

And it's not a good time for me to have any extra stress since I'm already flipping the fuck out over the Super Bowl this coming Sunday. Again, I'm not sure why I love sports so much, since rooting for the Philadelphia Eagles has taken years off my life. That, combined with my lack of sleep and my abuse of drugs, alcohol, and all that poison I take, and I should have been dead at age 7. Jason Mulgrew: defying the odds.

Also, I got a terrible email recently from Alisa from Wollongong, Australia (I'm so hot in Australia right now). She wrote about my athlete's foot, which, in case you were interested, is still in the process of turning my feet into fleshy lumps of gnarly, irritated skin.

Anyway, Alisa writes that the best athlete's foot remedy is for me to piss on my affected feet. I always thought this was an old wive's tale, but she tells me that she saw a movie in which Matt Damon plays an army medic, and he advises his patient to do just that. Of course, after the beauty and majesty that is "Good Will Hunting", I trust Matt Damon and any character he may play with my life, so I'm going to start peeing on my feet. I've been waiting for years for an excuse to do so without being judged, and now I finally have it. Thank god.

However, Alisa closes her email with the following tid-bit: "Also - severe tinea [the fancy name for athlete's foot] can be a signal of diabetes. Get your blood sugar checked, if you haven't already."


I don't know how much more clearly I can say this, but again, for the record, I AM A HYPOCHONDRIAC. I read this email at about 2pm on Saturday afternoon. By 2:03, after consulting with webmd.com (aka "The Hypochondriac's Worst Nightmare"), I was convinced that I have diabetes.

I don't know anything about diabetes, but I know that I'm really fat and I have SERIOUS athlete's foot. Therefore, logic would imply that I have diabetes. Add to this logic and completely irrational sense that something is seriously wrong with me medically somewhere in my body (balls, penis, testes, scrotum, grundel, etc), and it makes for a bad weekend and following week. I've been thinking I have diabetes since this email. I think I even remember telling people I met on Saturday night when I was drunk that I have diabetes. Last night I told my doorman. Today I told my accountant (and yes, I have an accountant - his name is Ezekiel and he is a lovely man).

So what I'm trying to say is that a) I have diabetes; b) I'm shitting myself because I have diabetes; and c) it's all because of Alisa from Wollongong, Australia. Please do not send me emails saying, "You know, since you haven't had sex with a consensual, non-dead, Caucasian woman in a while, you probably have legionnaire's disease", because my mind will spiral out of control and I will essentially will Legionnaire's Disease on myself.


See - just after writing that, I think I have Legionnaire's Disease. Fuck. I'm looking forward to the fever, chills, and a cough, which may be dry or may produce sputum (I'm hoping for sputum).

And now I have to go back to pretending like I know what I'm doing. worst. thursday. ever.

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