A Different Room, a Separate Table

They tell me life is a banquet; that we are all here to sample everything that life has to offer, and to have a merry, shining time of it, too.

I think I sit in a different room, at a separate table, because I just don't see what others' see.  I don't 'get' it.  I don't want to get it.  The things I see would, probably, disturb most other people... 

Currently, we are living in a society that apparently believes its possible to live forever if you follow The Rules.  That The Rules are, always, changing doesn't seem to daunt them.  They'll draw back, in horror, at the idea of eating a greasy burger and fries, and will gladly consume gallons of over-priced (and relatively useless) pomegranite juice simply because one health guru or another is telling them one is going to kill them, and the other one will make them beautiful with bowels that perform with clock-like precision.  You follow the rules, you'll live forever...

When something happens, and you are suddenly forced to abide by a set of rules that - while not making you immortal - need to be followed in order to make whatever life you have left tolerable, you are faced with making a few decisions.  French fries, or eyesight?  Pizza, or your feet?  You want salt on that?  Well, how about a nice pig valve for your suffering heart since you insist on mistreating it...

I can take pills; I can exercise; I can use nebulizers and inhalers; I can put up with all manner of medical foolishness because I have and I will, but I'm not sure I can spend the rest of my life measuring every fucking teaspoon of low-fat, low-carb, salt-free, sugarless, TASTELESS food I put into my mouth.  My life has become dreary enough without that...

And not to smoke anymore?  Not ever again?

Shi-i-i-i-it... EVERYBODY smokes in Hell...