Michael, The One & Only

I lost the habit of writing here, although my mobility if not back to normal, has improved a lot since my last entry in February. I can type much better now and for much longer, even at work I did a lot of data entry lately.
I have been living with this bursitis for almost 15 months now – far longer than the doctors have estimated. I mean the pain – the mobility of my arm might not come back 100% for 24 months. That is another story.
I don’t know if this is due to my not being in my twenties any more, to poor treatment or lack of response from my body to this type of treatment (Physio). Maybe my physiotherapist does not do all she can to fix me, I don’t know. But it’s annoying and frustrating to feel healthy otherwise and still feel disabled when it comes to my right arm.
The procedure that could have shortened my irritating/painful condition involves an injection with that bad stuff that killed Michael Jackson apparently (if it’s true, because most things that they say about him prove to be false the very next day).
Who on earth wants that bad stuff to slow down my heart to the point where it might be needed to be restarted with an electric shock if not everything goes well?

So Michael Jackson died.
I am sad. Very sad.
Nobody should die at 50.
Not Michael who wasn’t ever a “nobody”.
A big part of my life died with him and will be buried from now on, because he was with me at every party when I was younger, he was singing in the car at my wedding all the way from the City Council to the reception at the restaurant, he came with us in holidays, he pacified my baby when he was restless and teething, he was my children’s first dearly beloved singer ever, he was my very old mum’s favorite, and he was a good, kind, strange and genial, childish man who did his thing the best way it could be possibly done by a human being.
I don’t care about the gossip concerned with “unnamed” kids that he "had touched” because it was quite clear how all those terribly unfit parents were after his money.

Einstein never had a normal relationship with a woman in his entire life and nobody accused him o pedophilia because of that.
Does anyone who is familiar with Einstein’s famous portrait/photo realize how the man looked to his contemporaries with that hairstyle? Does anyone care about that? I know I don't.
Since we so readily admit and accept in awe the existence of genius in science, architecture, sport, politics, visual art, classical music, literature, etc., I do not see why Michael Jackson cannot stand proud & equal to all his different predecessors into perfection.