Diagnosis… Cootism

I have been complaining for a while now about not being able to concentrate on writing the way I was before and during the pandemic.

My father died of Parkinson’s Disease. And I have been exhibiting many of the same symptoms that he had. So, is that what it is? Am I going to become a shuffling old bearded coot, angry about everything, seeing things that aren’t really there, and slowly losing my hold on reality?

But it probably isn’t that. I probably have those symptoms because I worry about it too much. Honestly, I had Covid, the Omicron Variant, twice in 2022. Nobody knows what the long term effects of it are.

Probably Cootism.

I face being a really old and possibly crazy old coot, someone who yells at people and some dogs to get off my lawn… even though it is actually my wife’s lawn. She owns the house. And then I will probably be one of those coots who forgets to wear pants before walking the dog. And when the police bring me home, my wife will claim she doesn’t know who I am. And without my pants, I will not have my wallet and my driver’s license.

And I will probably get angrier and angrier until I am not just snorting in anger at the dog, but the postlady, the neighbors, and the policemen who bring me home with no pants on. Not much danger I will begin watching FOX News or vote for Don Cheetoh Trumpaloney (rhymes with “Full of baloney.”) And that’s because I don’t have cable. I will have to be radicalized over YouTube and Instagram. I am already practicing my coot-dancing in case I am discovered on Facebook. I can dance better than that old coot who dropped his cane and went viral with his boogying.

Yep, definitely a bad case of Cootism!