Asshole

   It has occurred to me more than once lately, as I've sat there in front of my father whose weakened heart has brought him to the edge of things, all the while consuming the Timmies double-doubles and apple fritters that I am being an asshole.

   Now, "asshole" is not always my favourite word and I use it now solely to be journalistically accurate. It is the word that actually runs through my mind when describing myself. To myself.
   Why I often feel this way is because I do very little to avoid someday being in the same boat as my father currently is. And at the rate I'm going it may be the same boat but on an even earlier cruise.
   I do not take care of myself. I don't get enough exercise and my eating habits are atrocious, for the most part. It seems, as I sit there in his hospital room, that I am unable to view the pain his condition is causing to him and his loved ones and extrapolate to my own situation. I am just about to slip into my sixties and am not that far off from being the same age as a few of the other gentlemen I've seen lately, pacing up and down the cardiac floor's hallways, all hooked up to their monitors. And I'm not really doing anything to avoid being one of their roommates sometime in the near future.

   My wife and I have talked about this in the past, as my weight has skyrocketed, plummeted and then skyrocketed all over again. Long before my Dad became ill, we talked about my general health occasionally and have agreed that it would be nice to be able to live as long a life together as we possibly could. My wife has upheld her part of the bargain, now I need to get my act in gear. Part of the dynamic here is that Doralyn is about 15 years younger and gorgeous (not the reason, by the way, that I married her) and it doesn't seem right that I should inflict my oldness on her any more than is necessary.
   Having said all this, while I was writing this blog I reached over and had a Mars bar (for breakfast, no less!). I believe this takes me very close to the pinnacle of Assholedom. The look on her face, as I did so, rather confirmed this for me.
   You may think I am being a little harsh on myself or, more than likely, you might be in total agreement. I often wonder, as I sit at my Dad's bedside, how much of my own future I'm being given a glimpse of. As I sip that double-double, munching on a dutchie, being an asshole.....