My elbows hurt. My elbows, for crying out loud. I don't even know what's in them that can hurt.
And I woke up this morning with death breath and a little gas, limping my way to the bathroom, where I might find some relief. After hobbling down the stairs, I realized I'd left my glasses by the bed. Back in the bedroom, glasses in hand, I reached in the dresser and grabbed a pair of socks, so that I might roll my sore foot over a bottle of frozen water--an old trick my sis shared with me.
Apparently, I woke up old sometime this year and failed to even notice.
Yeah, I'm a mess. But at least I'm not alone.
Yesterday's Scrabble game was delayed a good 20 minutes while Jill, Kristie and I reviewed our various aches and pains. Kristie, who'd just returned from two weeks in China, at least had legitimate reasons for her aches. Namely, she ate eel and pooped in holes in the ground. When she could poop, that is. Who wouldn't be aching from those kinds of experiences?!
Jill and I hadn't even been to North Lincoln in those two weeks, yet we still grew a bit verklempt recalling our own bodily travails of late. Between the three of us, our list was fairly respectable, ranging from achy shoulders and hips to ingrown chin hairs and periods more aptly names "commas" or "exclamation points."
Halfway through the game, Kristie excused herself to the couch, for a little nap between turns.
By the time they left, I needed a little nap myself.
Apparently, 49 isn't the new 29, after all.
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