I have a problem. Most of my friends say I have more than one. But I wish to key in on just one for a minute. Indulge me. I am concerned and maybe talking about it here will help. Listen up.

I have two doctors. One is your everyday general M.D. He handles your sore throat, your ear ache, your sinus problems. The basic stuff. Recently he tapped into my system and stole about a pint of blood. At least it felt like a pint. I was woozy for days. Ok, I'm kidding about the woozy part. But in my opinion he took more than he needed. His wife is probably a vampire and he has to keep her well fed. Who knows? Anyway, he sucked the lifeblood from my veins. The next week I got a letter in the mail telling me my cholesterol was 311. You might remember this story from an earlier blog. Indulge me. So the doctor gets all upset and tells me I have to start taking medicine and working out again. I have not worked out seriously since January of 2001. That is due to having gone through a bout of Adrenaline Exhaustion. This is where doctor #2 comes onto the scene. Doctor #2 is an honest to gosh psychiatrist. I go to a shrink. How cool is that? There are not any shrunken heads in his office but there are frogs. That's an entirely different story. Anyway, doctor #2 tells me I cannot work out. He says working out injects adrenaline into my system and that is a no-no for 30 months from the onset of adrenaline exhaustion. Makes sense to me but what do I really know? I'm a pastor. Adrenaline is my addiction. It is what wakes me in the morning and sings me to sleep at night. It has for years. 28 of them to be precise.

So there is my dilemma. Do I work out or do I not work out? Do I listen to the doctor who thinks I could have a heart attack or the doctor who tells me working out could throw me back into the hell of last year. Hmmm. How come I never get to choose between... oh... say, a backrub and a foot massage? How come I never get to choose between Club Med and Cancun? The best choice I get to make at the moment is between a heart attack and adrenaline hell? Geez. To complicate the issue, Doctor #1 gave me this little white pills. They are oblong and very cute. Unfortunately, they hate me. They are suppose to lower cholesterol. I started taking them and within 48 hours I thought Debbie had been beating on me with a baseball bat in my sleep. It's still possible that is what happened but I don't think so. I stopped taking the pills and the pain went away. So, being the wise guy that I am, I called doctor #1. He told me to stop taking the pill for two weeks. If the pain goes away start taking it again. (huh?) And then if the pain resumes we will know for sure that the pill is causing it. So I did what he said. I've been taking the pill for 2 weeks now. All I can say is... ouch. My body doesn't like me. I won't get any more graphic than that. But I don't like it.

Here is where the real problem comes in. As you know if you show up on this blog very often, last week... a week ago today... I killed my dog Bear. Death by lethal injection at the hands of a veternarian. He was not guilty of any crimes. Bear was not the Timothy McVeigh of the canine set. He was just... old. And his hips had gone. And he was getting miserable. So, bam, I made the call and down he went. Now, I started taking the pill AND working out. I voted against the heart attack. Now I can barely walk. After two weeks of running again my right knee is singing the blues. Loudly. It's a duet because my left knee agrees. It just isn't singing as loudly. My hips are fine, thank you. But my back feels like Barry Bonds has been taking batting practice on it.

Are you getting the picture? I am suffering from the same things that I killed my dog for a week ago. Sadly painful legs. Lack of energy. Undefined aches. Debbie keeps looking at me with that look. It's the look she used on Bear about 8 days back. I noticed her putting pills in my meat tonight and leaving it on my plate, thinking I wouldn't notice. I saw her talking quietly to a friend on the phone tonight while looking at me... staring at me. She occasional tests me, asking me to sit up straight... putting a cookie across the room and then watching me walk toward it. She looks at my knees when I put on gym shorts preparing to go to bed at night. And most ominous of all... I noticed my orange juice mugs are now being stored in the back of the cabinet.... as though they are not going to be needed.

Well, I just wanted this behavior noted. I wanted it written down somewhere. If I turn up missing... please... make sure her next husband sheds even more than I do.