By the time you read this, I'll probably be flat on my back at home recuperating from only the second operation I've had to endure in the 57 years I've been on this planet.
It's a minor operation, they say, but it didn't seem minor in the days leading up to Thursday's cut-and-paste hernia repair.
Only one other time have I "gone under the knife." I was rounding a curve on a mountain road in northern California on my motorcycle.
I was going 'way too fast and the curve didn't straighten out like I thought it would.
The highway was covered with wet pine needles.
A minute or two later, I gained consciousness in time to see a couple of U.S.
Forest Service rangers applying T-shirts to my face in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
My leg hurt like anything (it was broken) and my motorcycle was history.
A couple of days later, surgery was needed to repair my leg bone, which had broken length-wise.
I was given a spinal anesthetic and a plate was fastened onto the bone.
I'm fine now, but the thought of that procedure still gives me the willies.
It could have been worse, though.
The formerly despised helmet law in California probably saved my life.
Both sides of my helmet were bashed in (Hey, that could have been my head!).
That was seven years ago.
Now, I'm quite a bit older and not much wiser.
The thought of surgery terrifies me.
And even though hernia surgery is done with laser technology, it still means "going under the knife," as far as I am concerned.
When you're facing any kind of surgery, you start taking stock of what's really important.
All of a sudden, all the petty little annoyances at work seem trivial.
The neighbors' barking dog is actually a sweet-sounding serenade, and the August heat and humidity seem almost therapeutic.
I am now probably on the sofa in my steamy-hot living room, watching "Matlock" reruns and wishing I was at work, if for nothing else but the cool refrigeration of the newsroom.
I am determined to tough out the summer by using only an evaporative cooler.
My ancient central a/c system called it quits late last season and I've decided it's just too expensive to buy a new one.
After all, Kingman is really high and generally dry, compared with Parker, Lake Havasu City and Bullhead City.
Residents in those cities MUST have central air conditioning – or at the very least, window a/c units.
And by the way, how about installing refrigeration-type air conditioning at the Powerhouse? I attended Lou Sorensen's recent retirement soiree at the Powerhouse's party hall and nearly succumbed to heat prostration.
Well, not really … but I would've liked to have stayed longer except that my wife and I couldn't take the heat, which was exacerbated by the crowd.
But I digress …
I am probably already sick and tired of the reruns served up by the so-called "superstations" and others who regurgitate often-run mediocre or poor films or programs and call them "Classic TV" or "The New Classics."
The infomercials are worse and almost every channel has 'em.
Even the vaunted A&E (Arts and Entertainment) station now has stooped so low as to show paid programming.
I would hesitate to call such drivel programming.
More like commercials under the guise of legitimate programs.
And why so darned many sports channels? I have never been much of a sports fan, but even if I was, three or four sports channels are too many.
Besides, who wants to watch the Australian Football championships or the lacrosse finals?
Of course, that also has nothing to do with surgery or me being laid up.
Except that I have to endure bad television, the heat and boredom with a sore belly, to boot.
I can't wait to get back to work.
And I imagine my wife will be even happier on the day I climb into my truck and head for 3015 Stockton Hill Road once again.
* * *
A well-deserved King's crown for the heads of everyone associated with the Highway 68 widening/improvement project going on for the past several months between Golden Valley and Laughlin.
Those guys are working hard under intense heat and expect to finish by Christmas of this year!
Wet, soggy and smelly Cabbages to the class-less lowlifes who enter businesses barefoot and, in the case of males, shirt-less.
C'mon, put on shoes and a shirt.
Nobody is impressed!
Greg Bucci is the Miner's news editor.