I’ve often said that Montaigne is a role model for me, but I didn’t realize that an overly-literal Fate would take that to mean that I wanted to develop gallstones at the same age as he developed kidney stones. Yes, I’m back in the hospital this week, waiting to part ways with my gallbladder tomorrow morning. I already knew that I wasn’t the writer Montaigne was; now I’m aware that I could never be the equanimous Stoic that he was. No Italian spa waters for me, thanks; I’ll choose morphine, heated blankets, wifi, and an adjustable bed while I get caught up on some reading and writing. Only fanatics seek misery for its own sake; pragmatics take things as they are. I’d like to think that ol’ Mike wouldn’t have been too philosophically attached to suffering to sit here with me and enjoy streaming German soccer games while listening to new music from Beck and LCD Soundsystem.