Harris Saves the USA? —DeWese

IF YOU are not yet eligible for Medicare, I want to alert you that the week prior to your 65th birthday is a deep and dark depression.

There were all sorts of morbid thoughts about my mortality. I asked myself again and again, “Where the hell did my life go?”

I had symptoms ranging from a gall bladder attack to bubonic plague. I must have looked up a dozen illnesses on WebMD. None of them matched my malady of the moment.

I called my doctor three times and waited impatiently by the phone for his return call. He lives around the corner and, after 6 p.m., I would drive by his house slowly hoping to see him in the yard.

I even went to the emergency room once, only to be told that I was not threatened by anything aside from about 50 lbs. of fat.

The worst night was the eve of my birthday, June 29th. I went to bed with the gloomy knowledge that I probably wasn’t going to wake up. I was nearly in tears, thinking about how much everybody would miss me. I fantasized about a glorious funeral—a great celebration of my life. It would be attended by throngs of people who travelled hundreds of miles to pay homage to the Mañana Man.

Remarkably (actually, miraculously), I awoke on June 30th, a full-fledged senior citizen, free of my depression and ready to tackle the NEXT 65 YEARS!

I know I wasted the first 65 concentrating on mundane stuff like me, when I should have been concentrating more on others.

There is a lot of stuff in the world, our nation and our industry that needs to be fixed, and I’m on a mission to fix it. I will work to fix it, wherever I find it, which is usually behind some politician’s rhetoric.

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