can't spell colonoscopy without a colon. period.

the sun is out. the rain has ended. new strings in my tennis racquet. all is well with the world.

well, let's not go that far.

beware the ides of march.

caeser would never have become an orange julius if he had listened to that soothsayer.

so when the time came for me to schedule my colonoscopy 12 years after the recommended date, i had little trouble accepting the march 15 date.

i'm not really worried about the results. my health is excellent. i actually went to see a doctor who is not a pediatrician for the first time and the general state of the ship was sound (although i still need to make it to a dermatologist to get yelled at for my attempts to become an aztec sun worshipper).

but the colonoscopy will be monday. not really optional, since the joys of a proctological exam not only produced embarrassment, but an abrupt command from the doctor to get a colonoscopy now since there was a finding of blood in the stool.

probably nothing. but while i have become used to accepting what fate winds up and delivers to home plate i see no reason to thumb my nose at her either.

the procedure is a snap. since my insurance company is not covering this i feel i have been pretty well reamed already, so whatever further intrusion is necessary will be minimal.

but i must admit that i am dreading the day before.

if you have had the procedure, or read dave barry's great column on the subject, no explanation is really needed. suffice it to say that you are required to flush your system with the equivalent of a bathtub filled with drano, and spend more time in the bathroom than moses spent in the desert (although it took netanyahu to subdivide it for new housing).

you take an oversized bottle of industrial strength laxative and mix with half a gallon of gatorade (shaken, not stirred). then you drink the entire thing. but just for laughs you take four more pills and a bottle of citrate of magnesia. not exactly four chicago dogs and a pizza doused with red pepper, but pretty much the same result.

sound like fun? i didn't think so either.

i am well prepared with light reading for the room i am now calling the library. war and peace, the rise and fall of the third reich, james joyce ulysses, and half a dozen sudoku books.

sunday morning will be 2 hours of tennis and exercising poodle since she will probably not want to be anywhere near me once the process begins in earnest.

but i have a confession. my real apprehension is for a certain loss of innocence. a change in perception that shakes my very soul.

anyone who knows me realizes that my affection for food transcends common sense and well being. napoleon slices. baby back ribs. a rare steak the size of cleveland. and that's just the appetizers.

eating at a restaurant is a spiritual occassion for me. a holy pilgrimage to a place where people bring you whatever you request.

i have been thrown out of more buffets than charlie sheen has been ejected from bars. there is all you can eat, and all stern can eat. restaurants have learned the difference at their peril.

life has balanced my food excesses with my obsession for sports. a few hours of tennis translates into a nice bowl of spaghetti and sausage. a six mile run and i convince myself that dessert is a necessity. and i always remember that banana creme pie has that essential potassium to avoid cramping my calf (do not confuse with veal dishes).

it is sad that i would thumb through the sport's illustrated swimsuit edition just to get to the pictures of the restaurant adds. but that july centerfold of the prime rib was something else.

but not today. or yesterday. and certainly not tomorrow.

food is no longer your friend when you are striving towards a colon that has to be cleaner than the aegean stables.

i regret to say that nothing really sounds good when i know the prospects for sunday.

i might have to start fasting now.

i wish i had started in january.

all those nice products for the cleansing sitting on the same counter where my food is prepared.

even i can say no to peanut butter pie under those circumstances.

i can only hope that after monday i will get my will to eat back. i already am thinking what i will have for the celebratory meal on monday night.

but at my back i sometimes hear time's winged chariot drawing near. or in this case, the ghosts of laxatives past.

and the idea of extra hot panang curry somehow loses its luster when you remember the hours of toil spent in getting that colon ready for a spic and span commericial.

so i am weary and wary. is lime jello really all that awaits me in the future?

is life so dear as to be purchased at the price of a dinner of blueberry yogurt?

news at 11.

the mind has great properties of blocking out horrible past events.

but swilling down a jar of miralax and gatorade is not exactly foreplay to a hackney's burger with a loaf of onion rings.

so only one solution remains.

come visit. we'll hit a nice restaurant. life will begin anew. my appetite will be reborn.

or you can enjoy the saag paneer while i sip on a cup of junket.