Wednesday, August 21, 2013
(Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with 'Dr. Oz' or his TV show, which I have only noted in passing while channel surfing.)
For those of you a bit surprised about the inclusion of a mid-week posting this week, I have to tell you that you're not the only one. It appears however, that there may some potential side effects to living in the "Land of Oz" (aka Kansas) that some of us may be particularly susceptible to; and I now appear to be running the gamut of these conditions.
As many of you might know, I recently completed what I now like to call 'Tin Man Surgery', in which extensive and extremely necessary repairs were done to veins and arteries around an organ that was apparently in absence in one of Dorothy's companions in "The Wizard of Oz" as well apparently as in many Conservatives. (No, not my brain. Try not to jump ahead, please.) In spite of living in the Wiz's balloon 'fly-over country' however, I was seemingly blessed with some local 'rock stars' of the medical profession and the repairs were not only successful, but my expeditious recovery currently has me up for 'Miss Open Heart Surgery 2013'. (You should see the swim suit competition.)
In the days since my return home from the hospital however, I seem to have traded the condition that I shared with Dorothy's metal companion for that suffered by one of her more herbaceous ones. I have recently discovered that my interest and ability to write either quantitatively or qualitatively (writing a lot or well) seems have suffered in a corresponding fashion to my return of the good health of that vital pump in what I am beginning to consider might be the possible onset of 'Scarecrow's Syndrome'. I am now more than a little concerned that repairs insuring that blood is now properly circulating around my heart have somehow diverted this vital fluid from reaching the near perfect vacuum between my ears.
As a result, these days find me either unable or unwilling to keep up with my former docile pace of two blog posts a week. As for concerning myself with the discipline of the multiple personality disorder more commonly known as the staff here at JBS where the lexicographers of the SOS Dictionary are concerned, or facing the mess in the locked attic room (that I keep in my mind) better known as the Department of Just Blowing Smoke Security; forget about it. This combination of raging inability and apathy doesn't even speak to the apologies that I owe Michael Miller and the staff at the Toledo Free Press for failing to annoy them with nonsensical weekly efforts offered for publication in their well-esteemed product, let alone the constant re-writes that follow in vague but futile attempts to make them at least coherent, if not intelligent offerings.
My continued inability to properly identify the cause for this problem, let alone truly accept responsibility for the resulting lack of literary output leads me to believe that yet a third yet undiagnosed malady may be lurking in the wings. Such cowardice in the face of (and piled on top of) such inexcusable laziness may in fact be an indication of the first stage symptoms of another one of Dorothy's literary traveling companions. As fragile as my current mental state is however, I'm not sure if I could face a confirming diagnosis and discovering that I might indeed be suffering from the onset of 'Cowardly Lion's Disease' on top of everything else (though that may just be the fear talking).
This dilemma is further complicated by not knowing which of the medical professionals that I'm working with in the Sunflower State that I should consult regarding these concerns. Try as I might, I'm not sure how to determine which of their specialties these maladies might fall under, if any at all. Since most of them have signed off on my recovery (Oh, if they only knew!), and I am therefore not scheduled to visit with any of them any time soon; I hate to bother them with what may in fact be no more than post-operative psychosomatic disorders.
Perhaps the symptoms that at least I believe that I'm experiencing might not fall under any of the extensive training that any of them have received, and instead another medical professional must be called in. (I wonder if Dr. House might be interested in taking my case, though I better hurry before he finishes his final season.)
Now I'm sure that many of those reading this might by now think you have a pretty good idea or two of who might best be consulted (and I might even be tempted agree with you), but instead I think that I would to take these thematic medical complaints to their absurdly logical conclusion. Yes that's it! Dorothy did after all have one other companion on her journey through Oz that I have yet to consider ... Toto. I need to get on the phone with a local veterinarian first thing tomorrow ....