IT'S NOT JUST THE FREE FOOD

I think I've figured out something disturbing about myself. I've been cursed to find sick men attractive. And by 'sick' I do mean the I-can't-go-out-tonight-because-I'm-hooked-to-an-IV variety that one would find milling around in hospitals and parks for some fresh air. I can just picture me following around some poor boy still in his hospital gown, just walking around to stretch his legs. "So you want to grab a smoothie or something when you're done with Physical Therapy?", like it's a class he's taking for school. At least I don't go for "Come here often?".

Case in point: Charles Howell III, whom I guess is some golf player. Whatever. I was flipping the channels and saw a thin, bony, pale stick figure who turned sideways and became one-dimensional ... I had to pause and say to myself, "Now that is one fine looking man." I found myself thinking this earlier when, while crossing the street, some jerk decided to step on the gas instead of slowing down. I caught a glimpse of the driver. His skin was sallow and his baseball cap was casting shadows over his already sunken eyes. He might as well have been Death coming to take me away.

I'm not implying that Howell III should be immediately hospitalized to inject some much needed vitamins in him. I'm just saying, as much as 'heroin chic' was 'sexy' for some people back in the day, so is 'hospital sick' the same way for me. I don't think there's any deeper, underlying message to that. It's just ... sick. And I don't know what's more disturbing --- that I'm admitting to this, or that the TV is still on the Golf Channel.