...what keeps me alive and going.

I have a dear friend with a pain in the neck. Which means, I’ll try not to be a pain in the ass. I'll treat her nicely. I guess this is what happens when one starts to age. The body breaks down. Bit by bit. Thank heavens, I’ve held up pretty good. I try to stay in decent physical shape. So that when I drop dead, people can say I was in good condition. I’m really not supposed to be living this long. I'm 71. My dad died at 38. Of course, that was suicide. But my dad’s brother died in his 50s. After three heart attacks. And my mother had angina. And had quadruple bypass surgery at age 78, which gave her an additional 10 years of life. Heart troubles on both sides of the family. Anyway, I work out daily. I watch my weight. I keep my cholesterol in check. My blood pressure, too. But I take medications to keep these under control. And, for the most part, I’ve learned to not get too stressed. Albeit, I earned my living in a stressful job. Writing. Sometimes breaking news. On deadline. Under hectic conditions sometimes. I don’t think I could handle it today. I wouldn’t want to. Just the idea of having to report for work daily – it’s a turn off. But I used to love it. Now it’s more important to just ponder and think and reflect. And irritate people. And find reason to be reasonably happy. I like to irritate unhappy people by being happy. Maybe that makes me mean. And condescending. Maybe deep down, I really don’t like people. Oh, I like Rosie and Cherie and a few others. And I like myself. And I was capable of falling in love. With Jeanne. And with life, in general. I’d much rather be alive than dead. I’d like to live forever. I could handle it. But I suppose that would all change if I were dreadfully ill and in pain. I can stand some physical and mental and emotional pain. But only to a degree, I presume. Some day, the pain may be too much. Too great. Too debilitating. But love can offset pain. This whole notion of love is what keeps me alive, and going. --Jim Broede