The problem is all that California sunshine I got before I became nocturnal. My grandfather liked to go fishing, and I spent way too many hours on the pier or the beach. I had a couple of sunburns so nasty that I could barely walk. This was not unusual among my peers. From early summer on, one or another of us was peeling. Sunburn was almost a badge of juvenile machismo in my neighborhood. I've known for a long time that it would eventually catch up with me.
But going to doctors has always raised my anxiety level. Entirely aside from the fact that I am completely uninsured, I'm probably looking at some sort of slice-and-dice coming up. That makes it worse. I just don't think clearly under pressure. And then, when something is worrying me, I don't sleep as well, and I start remembering my dreams. Most of them involve me wandering around some strangely altered version of reality looking for something, and I have no idea what it is. Not exactly nightmares, but disturbingly creepy.
Well, what the hell. At least it will give me a chance to practice denial on a whole new level. I ought to master at least that art before I'm dead. And who knows? Maybe I'll meet a lawyer who can figure out a way I can sue the fish who lured me into standing on the pier at Manhattan Beach all those years ago. They'd probably only pay me scale, though. (Okay, that was just so everybody will know that I deserve to die!)