"So... your car ist Kaput... and your girlfriend is gone... and dein Haus they have sold..."

Date: 23 Oct 2009

Today I greeted my buddy the fruit vendor. He asked me how things were and with a shrug and a smile, I replied with the ever so crass remark “Good… I’ve got my health”. Turning around, I shuddered at the thought that I, of all people, would reply with such a platitude, as if having one’s health in good shape is the fountainhead of life satisfaction and enjoyment. The audacity! I thought about an old blog entry I wrote; if memory serves me correct, it was for my creative writing class. The blog entry was quite raffish in its youthful attack, albeit not as fast or loud as Charles Bronson, but just as inchoate and raw.
I don’t recall the specifics of the blog, however the incident today adumbrated the ill-feelings that I, the perpetual hypochondriac, held fast against the masses that believe one’s state of contentment should be determined by robust mental hygiene and/or salutary blood chemistry. I’ll spare my reader of a lengthy, well-nourished discourse in concluding that the latter is more important than the former. In my older age, sage rears its ugly head, though admittedly, in the vein of that asshole of Athens, I do not know much at all.
Despite my ignorance, I can surmise that one's "health" is a sound determinant of overall life satisfaction. One can argue on and on for the contrary on the grounds that despite not having a terminal illness, there may be profound levels of human suffering, and thus one's suffering overrides one's physical well being. But then again, who precisely is suitable to appraise the quality one's suffering, and in doing so, tip the scale in either direction? And if one were to appraise said suffering, then surely, if aforementioned appraisal is examined closely, it will become apparent that in an episode of suffering, acute or chronic, there is not a sound mind.

Zum Prost!