Trying for a personal renaissance

     My, but that sounds kind of snooty. Ah, well, it's late and I don't feel much like rewording it...and it's only a blog entry title, for Pete's sake. I shouldn't worry about it quite so much.
     Oh, before I begin: Look...scintillating prose!
     Fact is, I really shouldn't worry about a lot of things. I do, though, and that really can't be helped...but I shouldn't worry about as much as I do, perhaps. I'm just not very good about letting go of things sometimes. I'm tenacious. I don't generally give up easily if I think it's even remotely important or worthwhile. My wife and daughter, for instance...I'll never stop worrying about them, or their safety and comfort, and I shouldn't. That's my job as husband and father.
     But to go to another extreme...let's talk for just a moment about Decipher's Star Trek roleplaying game. If there was anything that didn't need me stressing over it, this is that thing. And yet, I stress over it. I love the system. You know I love Star Trek. It's a well-made game that captures the feel of the source material beautifully...and it was produced by a company that couldn't give a rat's hind-quarters about it. I've sent numerous emails to Decipher, and I can't get any sort of response. They won't let me help them try to pull the game out of the crapper for them, and I'm working for free. I don't understand their mindset, and suspect I never will.
     I should just let it go...but I can't. Or won't. I'm not sure which is the right word, and I'm not altogether sure that they aren't interchangeable at the moment.
     We'll leave my love/hate relationship with work out of things for right now.
     I went to see the doctor on Monday, as a follow-up to my fibromyalgia (a medical term that means, "We don't really know what's wrong with you, we just know that it hurts when we press here. See?"), and mentioned to him my recent bouts of spaciness/spacing out, and my occasional memory lapses. Quite some time, and a lot of questions and answers later, he determined that I'm suffering from chronic fatigue and I'm working on a sleep deficit.
     Doesn't that sound like fun?
     Kidding aside, I was kind of glad to hear that diagnosis, because it eased my mind about possible dementia. My grandmother and her sister both had Alzheimer's when they died, and my father was probably on the way down that road before the bottle and the cigarettes killed him. I am, therefore, somewhat worried about my own future, and it's possible I had a little bit of a hypochondriac streak going there. Instead, I've been told I need to get to bed earlier, start exercising again, get my eyes checked, and take a few days off.
     On the first, "fat chance" seems to be the answer there; I'm the hands-on father of a nine-month-old. I started the second tonight. I'd already had an eye exam last week before I went to see the doc, and picked up my new specs today. As for the last, I'm still working on getting that scheduled.
     I feel like I should have more to talk about, but at the moment I don't. Well, I probably do, but I'm tired and think I'll go to bed instead of trying to write it all out in a single sitting. Gotta pace myself, after all.