I’m on one. And it’s a powerful incarnation. Not like health kicks from years past which fell by the wayside like so many dead prostitutes. I’m talking about the health kick of a 35-year-old man who has been forced to grow up a lot in the last 5 years and is missing that ever-important element of adulthood – namely, giving a sweet tweet about whether or not they’re due to drop dead from a heart attack or other unfortunate ailment anytime soon.

I am drinking alcohol in extreme moderation. Using milk in my coffee instead of cream. Not snacking after dinner. Walking my dogs instead of simply letting them outside. Investing in an elliptical to use over the winter. The offices my company moved into this very day come with a membership to their gym. I went to Bruegger’s Bagels for a snack this afternoon and came out with a fruit salad. A fucking fruit salad. That previously repulsive collection of melon, pineapple and grapes was the tipping point for me. I realized this time my “body is a temple” bullshit might not be more pathetic shit – but rather a core paradigm shift. A sea change.

I live in hope that is what this is. As do my children and their ancestors – all of whom have yet to be born. You have poor souls like Swayze who stay uber-fit their entire lives only to fall victim prematurely to a bastard of a disease like pancreatic cancer. Then there are Cheetos-eating clowns like me who lean over the railing and constantly flip-off the Grim Reaper like they’re some kind of invincible. I’m not. My parents weren’t. Not even Dalton from Road House was.

I’m shaping up in just about every way I can think of.

If you’re over the age of oh, 15, and you had your tonsils removed as part of some childhood procedure or fishing accident – please take a moment to rejoice right now. Although I managed to see the inside of an emergency room more than the average adolescent, tonsil yanking was never on the menu. As a result, this whacking great hanging heap of useless flesh, which I have named “Kevin Federline”, becomes an autumn haven to streptococcus bacteria about once every three years and I am right in the middle of such a party.

The difference between strep throat and a more run of the mill sore throat are symptoms including: red and white patches in the throat, tender or swollen glands (lymph nodes) in the neck, lower stomach pain, fever, general discomfort, uneasiness, or ill feeling, loss of appetite and nausea, rash. All a big affirmative in this current situation. Unless I’m mistaken, and this is just a bad case of the garden variety, I’ll have to go to the ER in Smiths Falls until some kind doctory soul gives me penicillin. But I’m actually pleased to have a mission, even if the ride is going to be uncomfortable (did I mention the full body buzz?) because I have been bedridden for 2 days and the novelty has definitely worn off at this point as Heather Hunter isn’t in here with me.

I get out for one little Halloween party and now I’m bloody quarantined with strep. It’s tough to have fun in the sticks I guess. I’ve gone from worrying about the stray bullets, crazy cabbies and Sox parade mob tramplings of the inner city to things like dysentery and deer ticks and making out with the skinny chick in front of the Smiths Falls methadone clinic. Oh Mr. strep, will you please stop haunting me so!