just call me stubborn

I know better.

I know the importance of going to the doctor but still avoid it, much like I avoid sitting in restaurant booths where the stuffing is spilling out. It doesn't sit well with me.

In simpler terms, I don't like it.

Not to say that dislike is a suitable reason. Now that I'm 37, I have accumulated a few ailments that should probably be monitored or charted by someone other than my mother. Moms are good with advice, but a phd along the way wouldn't hurt.

I'm 99.9 percent sure I am a candidate for eyeglasses, considering the floaters I often get while working with computers. My co-hosts say I squint more than I mention Starbucks, and I'm now sporting a pair of drugstore reading glasses. A trip to an eye doctor to read that infamous letter chart in the dark would quite possibly be a quick fix, but I haven't gotten around to making the appointment and its only been three years.

On an entirely different note, I've felt a good step behind the rest of you for as long as I can remember, and have come to the realization that I...serious now...likely have a concern with attention span. Let's just say the symptoms are a good match, and if asked, my family wouldn't fight me on this one. I can remember forgetting a huge project in school, and finishing the work in a bathroom stall the morning it was due. I also lose keys, cell phones, and my train of thought. Of course, I've been meaning to make an appointment with a doctor, but keep forgetting.

And then there was the appointment I did make, but forgot, only to be billed a no-show fee.

I'm making progress on my doctor avoidance, after my husband practically made me see a foot doctor for a problem I thought stemmed from running, but what do I know. Instead, the doctor told me I was the unlucky recipient of feet with no arches, and to stop wearing heels...stat. 'Save em for weddings, funerals and date night.' Well worth the co-pay, right? Hey doc, those inserts you gave me don't exactly fit into cute flip-flops around the pool. Then there's the cortisone shot I got in the ankle, a fabulous reminder of why I don't jump at the chance to sit in waiting rooms and read magazines from 2008.

But, I'm trying.