No doubt you are asking yourself what will happen to this fascinating blog as my condition improves. Will I, you wonder, resort to smug reports about how vigorously healthy I am feeling these days. And will these posts be pompous lectures about exactly what you should be eating so that you can be as wonderfully fit as I am. Will I, you apprehensively enquire, provide links to endless photo-streams of the new me playing frisbee with a golden retriever, kayaking gleefully over cascading rapids and tossing elaborate salads in a sun-kissed kitchen. Well, the answer to these questions is yes. Yes I undoubtedly will.
Let's face it, I've suffered countless agonies and deprivations with my heart bypass surgery, and I claim an unequivocal right to act holier than thou if I so choose; to indiscriminately dispense my boorish nutritional wisdom into your undeserving head; to expect you, dear reader, to gratefully bookmark this page and thereby increase the hit count in case I decide to include advertising. After all, what good can come from my experience if I cannot recount it to a captive audience in gory and infinite detail, while possibly making a little monetary profit from it also.
Consider my painful and probably permanent incision scars. Observe the unappetizing harvest of legumes, roots and leaves that I am forced to eat. These are heavy burdens of mine that should be important to you too. I am the modern equivalent of some etiolated medieval hermit condemned to a gloomy, life-long curriculum of fasting and self-denial. I am the Western counterpart of a silent Hindu guru with wild hair and long, crinkly fingernails, washing his only pair of underpants in the Ganges while a excitable mob drapes him with rotting garlands. In short: I am the sort of person whose opinions should be heard, even if they are unbearably sanctimonious and misinformed.
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