I feel rubbish.
I have done for a while. Nothing specific. More a generalised feeling of clogged head, twinges in all the major joints (and a few minor ones), feeling tired all the time, disturbed sleep and frequent nips to the loo. In short, many of the symptoms one might reasonably expect having reached 49 plus 1. But all could undoubtedly be addressed by some sudafed, a bit of regular light exercise, earlier nights and a better diet. Mrs WK is continually telling me this.
But of course that’s too easy. Instead, I am sitting at home, giving free rein to my hypochondria, and resisting the urge to search Wikipedia for all of my imagined symptoms. Or worse, searching for random terminal diseases and matching them to how I feel.
But the strangest thing of all is that, whatever deadly disease I am manfully trying to ignore, it is manifesting as a subconscious urge to become Jewish. And not just any Jewish. Stereotypical, New York Jewish. That’s the only explanation I can think of for my lunch of chicken noodle soup and a toasted bagel.
I appear to be channeling Woody Allen. I wonder if there’s a Wikipedia page for that.