What Am I Complaining About?

Well, Idunno. My previous post comes on as a thinly disguised "pity-party". I shoulda took Mama's advice: "If you can't think of anything nice to say, shut up." The thing is, I am dissatisfied with a great many things. Of course I started out that way, and getting older has only added to the pile, but once in a while something happens that simply snatches me square. There's nothing like a good reference point.

Terry Pratchett, the brilliant British fantasy satirist, has recently been diagnosed with "early onset" Alzheimer's disease. Bummer. This guy, whom I have mentioned with praise in a previous post, would have to lose at least nine tenths of his mind for me to have a shot at impressing him. Not only that, but when I just checked the official fan site, I happened to notice it had 20,000 members. You gotta know that those who log on are just the tip of the iceberg, say ten percent. Even that sounds conservative. So, what does this all mean? It means that I, at least, don't have a damn thing to complain about. And that's unusual.

Think about it. What if you became unable to recall the people you know, the places you relate to, the things you are accustomed to do? What if you were unable to...think about it? You know, cancer kills people all the time, and they die knowing. But Alzheimer's obliterates your humanity while you are still breathing. There's a peculiar kind of gentle horror to it; you may cease to exist in any truly human way, but the old body keeps ticking, ticking, ticking.

I hope you are just as horrified as I by this ugly thing that can happen to even the best of us. I know that I am not a great intellect, but I would not even have the opportunity to publish this self serving blog did I not share in some measure the ability to reason that I feel has been beatified by minds like Terry Pratchett's.

Thanks Terry.

To get more info log on to www.TerryPratchettBooks.com or oook@discworldmonthly.co.uk

Lookout,
Regards, Daddy