Mature Whie Male Seeks Wellness on West Side of Manhattan

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I am dreading Wednesday when I must go see Dr. Taylor, the surgeon who did my shoulder replacement, and confess that I have sinned and not faithfully followed the exercise regimen and so my left shoulder is not fully functional. It aches a little, it’s stiff, doesn’t extend fully, and I repent. On the other hand, what does “fully functional” mean for a man of 83 and 5/6ths? I can still shampoo my hair with my both hands and pull on my underwear. I’m not a rock climber, I’m a writer and a stand-up comic, I enjoy my work, I love my life. I live with a dear woman who fascinates me and also does household repairs and manages the finances. I am an Episcopalian and look forward to the Resurrection and the amazement of my Brethren ancestors that I was allowed through the gates.

So I’m not a model patient. I suffer from Repetitive Exercise Resistance Disorder going back to high school and the trauma of chin-ups and the rope climb in gym class. I looked it up on a wellness website and the symptoms describe me to a T — occasional irritability, mood swings, weird dreams, certain melodies going around in my head, a twinge in my neck, and, what’s most crucial, the inability to call up a therapist and make an appointment. I can dial the first four numerals and then no more.

I am practically the only persons I know who’s never seen a psychotherapist or shrink. My beloved went to one for her obsessive maternal syndrome, the habitual tidying and straightening and reminding, and she’s much happier. My sister had a compulsive assembly disorder, which is like hoarding but with people: she was driven to organize reunions, neighborhood gatherings, community sings, holiday parades, and people blocked her texts until a shrink put her on Solitudinol and she recovered.

The wellness website says that my therapy resistance syndrome can easily turn aggressive, which is concerning, living as I do in New York. In Minnesota, I could go out in the woods with a chainsaw and cut down a few elms, but in Manhattan on the Upper West Side where Republicans are rare as whippets and they have one club, the Fox & Hounds on Columbus Avenue, and what if I pass it on my way home from church and feel a strong urge to burst in through the metal detector and yell, “Which one of you powder puffs wants to go toe to toe with an 83-year-old English major? Take a number and get in line. I’m an Episcopalian but I think it’s time I busted a few jaws and kicked somebody hard where the sun don’t shine. You pinheads elected a pervert president who is making us the laughingstock of the Western World and taking his orders directly from Putin and turning the DOJ into his private law practice to punish his opponents and pardon his pals and pocket payoffs from creeps and crooks and freaks and fruitcakes willing to smooch his big behind, so put up your dukes, you slimeballs, and I’m gonna pound the snot out of you, depants you, and give you a prostate exam with a red-hot poker and make your manhood beg for mercy. Who wants to go first?” And I hock a big gob on the bust of George W. Bush.

I almost did it last Thursday when I read about the Supreme Court’s 6-3 decision to allow the deportation of 350,000 Haitians and Syrians who’ve been living in the U.S. for years, huddled masses yearning to breathe free who’ve now found work, made lives, started families, which, regardless of the legal mumbo jumbo, is an act of ferocious cruelty by Sextuple Perps who, citing no need for urgency, overturned lower court rulings that were humane.

My grandpa came from Canada in 1893. Did he get citizenship? Who knows?  If Stephen Miller kicks me out by executive order for writing this column, would the Six Perps decline to second-guess him?

Okay, I take it back. I didn’t write what appears above and you didn’t read it. Obama was born in Kenya, Biden lost in 2020. Build the ballroom. Make the arch a thousand feet high. The algae in the Reflecting Pool was planted by followers of Alger Hiss. I’m outta here. I feel fine. I’m going to ask Dr. Taylor to recommend a shrink and whatever I need to do to achieve tranquility I will do. I’m feeling calmer already.

Garrison Keillor © 06.29.26