My Point...And I Do Have One

hand, I did lose five pounds a lot quicker than I would have by dieting, and I had someone cute tell me that my urine looked good.
    Luckily I was able to go home after just one day. But I had to rest for a long time. We lost a week of production on my show. And, to be honest, the first week or two that I was back I don’t think we made the best episodes. Mycharacter was always lying in bed with her feet slightly elevated. Every now and then they would cut to me and I would just react to whatever action was taking place and say something like.- “Wow, that’s crazy” or “You don’t say” or “You learn something new every day, don’t you?”
    It was heartwarming going back to the set for the first time after recuperating. Everybody was so happy to see me. Well, everybody but Erik Estrada. He had been promised my role if I didn’t make it back and had already started rehearsing. I think it would be a completely different show, him playing Ellen instead of me. I’m not saying worse, just different.
    The whole experience of being sick and going to the emergency room has really made me value how good life is without a cyst. It has also made me appreciate the little things in life. Like … Actually, I can’t think of anything right now. All that popped into my head was “mashed potatoes.” And, well, I like mashed potatoes, but I can’t honestly say I appreciate them more than I ever did. Oh, I guess I do appreciate having clothes that aren’t open in the back.
    On the down side—if there can be a down side to having a ruptured cyst—I’m now much more of a hypochondriac than I ever was. For instance, just the other day I was sure that I had an awful stomach ulcer. It turned out that I had just left one of the pins in my new blouse.
    So, my advice to everybody reading this is simple: Don’t have a cyst. Believe me, it’s not all the fun and kicks it’s made out to be.

one step
closer to god
or

one step back
,
you do the hokey-pokey

and you turn yourself around

    L ike most of us humans (if you’re a nonhuman and are another species of animal instead, like a llama, screech-monkey, or whatever, then congratulations on learning how to read), I am always searching for answers. Sometimes I don’t even know the question, and yet I need answers. Sometimes I know the answer and I need the question, but that’s only when I’m watching
Jeopardy!
    Some of the answers I search for are to questions like: What is the meaning of life? How did it all begin? Is there such a thing as infinity? (It boggles my mind that there is no beginning or end to the universe, only a big middle that’s probably the result of too much starchy foods.) Now, don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t think about this stuff constantly. Sometimes I just sit in my den and watch
Wheel of Fortune
. That Vanna White sure seems like a sweet girl—so happy and upbeat.
    But right now I am thinking about those big questions, because right now I’m thinking about God. That’s because there’s a woman, who by the looks of her is either from India or Sweden, about one hundred yards away from me (I say one hundred because I’m sitting under one field goal and she’s under another; so I’m guessing one hundred). She has been sitting on a tree stump rocking back and forth with little beads and a tiny book in her hands for two hours—praying sort of out loud. I can’t really hear what she’s saying, but man oh man, two hours? What could you possibly pray about for two hours?
    I’d like to tell her, “Excuse me, Miss, but he’s busy—or she or whoever. Keep it short. There are people in Yemen who would like to talk.”
    I think that when you pray, it’s like you’re leaving a message for God. You don’t want to have God check her answering machine, hear your rambling prayer, and say, “Two hours, two hours?! There will be no time for miracles today. That’s for darn sure.”
    I try to keep my prayers simple, like: “Hey, God,what’s up? Thanks for everything in my life. I’m so grateful. Thanks especially for helping me find that parking space today. That was sweet of you. Hope you’re doing okay. Sorry for the mess we’re making here blah, blah, blah.” (I literally say, blah, blah, blah—don’t ask me why, it just feels good.) I’m finished in less than five minutes (saving God time so that she can have a personal life).
    Sometimes when I’m driving I get so angry at inconsiderate drivers that I want to scream at