Clean As A Whistle

Clean As A Whistle:  The old simile describes the whistling sound of a sword as it swishes through the air to decapitate someone, and an early 19th century quotation does suggest this connection: 'A first rate shot. (his) head taken off as clean as a whistle.'  (Ed. Note: Did not see that coming).

My ability to focus on my aches and pains is a continuous source of amazement to me.  I can say truthfully - and this is not a statement to be taken lightly given my love of lying, embellishing, storytelling, rounding up, filling in the cracks, and just general bullshitting - that there are very few things in the world that get under my skin so frequently and with such staying power as my ability to concentrate on how I feel physically.

This is bad enough.  It is egregious, however, when I consider the actual state of my health, which is a blessing and not a curse.  I don't have any serious illnesses or conditions or injuries, and my family history is as clean as a whistle in the deadly arenas of cancers and heart disease and high blood pressure.  If my progenitors are any indication I can look forward to many more years of active living.

It's my mother.  She did this to me.  Sorry, mom, wherever you are, exactly, but I'm still blaming you for my problems.  And, mom, as Willie tells me, you're probably laughing your ass off.  Good for you.  I hope Jesus and the Heavenly Father and Buddha and Ganesh and Kenner and Dad and whoever else is sitting around the coffee table with you are also getting a kick out of my troubles.

The other weird oddity is that I can not remember anyone in my family ever complaining about their health, ever.  Even my mother - as she forecast gloom and doom - never made a peep about how she was feeling.  I continue to approach my elders with casual questions about how they're feeling and I continue to get accepting, measured responses, full of perspective and gratitude.  This is helping, too, especially when I hear the real things people go through.  I get a backache and I want to kill myself - dude yesterday, who seems happier than me, had a heart attack several years ago that put him into intensive care for three weeks.  Jesus Christ, I'd be afraid to get out of bed if that happened to me.

It's just not helping fast enough.