Without the proper maintenance, one’s consuming machine will eventually become compromised. If not dealt with, such a situation may begin to inhibit one’s consuming ability. I had ignored this fact, even though it is as obvious and universally recognized as the existence of the sky, for an embarrassingly long time — so long, in fact, that by the time I finally arrived at the doctor’s office for a routine check-up, it was almost as if I was experiencing it for the first time. Luckily, the interior decorators responsible for outfitting such places haven’t made much progress in the past thirty years or so, which made it feel very much like I’d stepped into a time warp where the only things that had changed were the dates on the Times and Newsweeks on the end tables in the waiting room.
After enduring the incredibly uncomfortable ritual of being poked, prodded, probed and interrogated, I learned that my machinery is, you might say, wound a bit too tight. In biological terms, I have high blood pressure — much too high for someone of my age, weight and dietary habits. Therefore the doctor suggested I begin consuming something I have willfully avoided for more than fifteen years: prescription medicine.
The blood pressure is only one of my problems. I really don’t find it seemly to volunteer ever dirty detail of one’s health information on the Internet, but suffice to say that, at age 34, my machine is showing signs of wear and tear that, if ignored, will certainly lead to a premature expiration. And while the thought of putting consumption behind me permanently doesn’t exactly fill my heart with woe, I must admit that I’ve grown quite fond of quite a several other consumption machines, and would miss their company greatly if a machinery malfunction led to my early exit from this odd event. From now on, as much as I loathe it, I’ll be maintaining my machine regularly, if for no other reason than to ensure that I can continue to enjoy the company of my favorite partners in consumption.