/lit/ - Literature

I am a sick man. ... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattract-
ive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know
nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for cer-
tain what ails me. I don’t consult a doctor for it, and never
have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. Be-
sides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect
medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be su-
perstitious, but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult
a doctor from spite. That you probably will not understand.
Well, I understand it, though. Of course, I can’t explain who
it is precisely that I am mortifying in this case by my spite:
I am perfectly well aware that I cannot ‘pay out’ the doctors
by not consulting them; I know better than anyone that by
all this I am only injuring myself and no one else. But still,
if I don’t consult a doctor it is from spite. My liver is bad,
well—let it get worse!