I'm Going To Live Forever

Finally, some good news, tailor-made just for the SJG. Neurotic people live longer. How do I know this? Because Time Magazine told me, so there. How liberating to discover at this late-50s stage of personal evolution that all my overthinking, worrying and free-floatin' anxiety is wonderful for my health. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, I'll give you that. I thought the folks with the positive attitudes were going to outlive me. Well, step aside, losers. According to a UK study -- and the UK would never mislead me, their favorite Royal Family Jewish Adviser -- neurotics live longer because they think they're dying and run to the doctor to make sure they still have a pulse. Hmm. Back up there a minute, you researchers, you. How dare you! The SJG is a little offended. Not a lot. But a little. I may over-manage my health. But I'm not a hypochondriac. I only run to the doctor when I know or think something is wrong. And I'm always right most of the time. I refer you to my current flea-bitten state. I am now on the mend only because I turned myself over to two doctors, a nurse practitioner and the 12-acre M.P.C. (Mega Pharmaceutical Conglomerate) down on Ventura Blvd. that fills my prescriptions when they feel like it. It took a team of well-paid specialists to cure me, more or less, plus a festive swath of Saran Wrap and Larry and Bob of the Flea Mavens. Maybe it's this soothing elixir of you-can-never-be-too-careful that will sustain me into senility. I overthink what's happening, I over-research, I diagnose myself, and then I seek confirmation at the nearest facility my insurance covers. Some might call that neurotic. Others might call it damn smart. Either way, there's a good chance I'll outlive you. Just know I'm going to miss you, but I promise to bring a nice coffee cake when I pay a condolence call at your house. L'chaim!