I am my own punchline; or, 30 is the new 80

On tonight's menu we have me, sitting on the new loveseat, anxiously preparing for a colonoscopy which will take place in roughyl twelve hours. I have not eaten since breakfast - - strike that, yogurt at ten thirty - - in accordance with my colonoscopic instructions. I am dizzy, light-headed, sorrowful, angry and for some reason feeling just a lot bit paranoid. As in, everyone on the street is looking at me. I am considering the alternate explanation that they may have been staring less at me and more at the wild-eyed and panicked look on my hunger-starved face. It has occured to me more than once today, Gosh I finally know what it feels like to be a starving refugee. I've downed two of the roughly twelve, chilled glasses of Go-Lytely which await me tonight, to be consumed every ten minutes until the gallon-jug is empty, which will act as a gastrointestinal death brigade and clear the way for the forty-foot camera which awaits my bum. I've eaten exactly two-thirds of one Edy's Tangerine Flavored Fruit Ice, one-third per glass of Go-Lytely to cut down on the taste -- oh yeah, definitely tastes better chilled, thanks Pharmacist -- carefully rationed because I am fearful that the Strawberry and Raspberry Flavored ones have too much Red Dye #40, which is a no-no. If that camera sees red, I want no mistakes about it. I am also concerned that the Edy's box touts the fact that their product contains "real fruit", which could mean "real fruit bits", which are also a no-no, but I feel safe to assume that any stray bits of frozen, processed tangerine will not be mistaken by the colo-cam as anything alarming.

So now I sit here in T-shirt, boxer briefs and black socks, looking every bit the part of the octagenarian I seem to have become (last week was the Neurologist, and did I mention another one of my molars seems to be developing a dark spot?), patiently waiting for my hot pan of chicken broth dinner to cool. My stomach is already making funny noises, a full forty minutes ahead of schedule if I am to believe the Go-Lytely label. I am scared of what the evening will bring. I've suggested to

**break: glass #3**

M. that I will sleep on the new pullout sofa this evening, so as to be closer to the loo and so as not to wake him up every fifteen minutes, but the New Couch Owner in me fears that this is too risky a venture -- what if you have a dream that your Go-Lytely kicks in, and then it does, but you're still dreaming, or at least thinking you are? -- and implores me to just sleep on the dirty rug.

I will now pour my lukewarm chicken broth into a plain white bowl - - but first, Glass #4, which leaves me with no more than twenty minutes of freedom - - and sit here and eat it and whistfully yearn for the days when I was young and carefree.