Losing it.

I'd like to say I'm living an interesting life. Considering that there's been nothing worth noting for the past four weeks, I think it's a vain hope.

My wife, my dog, and my toothache preoccupy my spare time. In varying order, depending on the time of day. My evenings are for my wife and dog; the rest of the day, when I'm not agonising over the timetables or over the phraseology of the latest blight on the English language I'm working on, is devoted to wondering whether I should schedule a visit with my friendly dentist.

Great. I need to fix that hole in my tooth, even if it means an even bigger hole in my wallet. (Singapore - a great place for laksa, mutton biryani, and mee poh, not so great for cheap healthcare.)

Yes, I know, I think I can spend a little to get my gnashers up to speed again. Something... just clamps my wallet closed when I'm thinking long-term medical expenditures. I don't know if it's a male-thing "I'm invulnerable" kind of denial of my mortality.

I know what I need to do to get fit. Lose weight. Fix my teeth. Stop smoking. Start jogging again. Get out more. Have a life.

I keep telling myself that I'll get around to it. As if I had an unlimited time to get to it, when my tooth, my blood pressure, my cholesterol, and my state of mental health might reach the breaking point sometime soon.

Blah. Blame this depressing rant on this being the end of Monday, on the eve of what's likely going to be a looooong week.