Bow Tie o’ the Day and Ties o’ the Day are undisputed evidence that if you are decking yourself out for the Christmas holidays, besides donning a festive tie or two, you must wear shades in order to be sufficiently holiday-hip. Apparently, according to one tie, if you’re a snowman you don’t have to follow the sunglass fashion trend, despite being surrounded by be-sunglassed associates.
Of course, because Mom wears her shades 23 and 1/2 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days per year, I’ve already posted a few photos of her expressing that fashion trend. I actually think she may have started the indoor wearin’ o the sunglasses. Don’t blame that fashion development on hipsters and gangstas. Wearing shades indoors was likely one of Mom’s many fashion innovations.
It’s a gray, sorta rainy day here in Centerville. No wearing shades for me, inside or out– except in this picture. It’s the kind of day that makes me wanna do a lot more of the nothing than I’m usually doing since my stoopid surgery. When will my gut quit pinching, pulling, tugging, and feeling like duct tape is being ripped from across my innards? Really though, I’m doing much better than that last sentence makes it seem. Those odd pains and feelings are only occasional now. But when the buggers attack, I can’t not-feel them.
When I got out of bed this morning, I immediately became ticked off. And it wasn’t because of the gloomy weather. It’s because between my scarry tummy and my ouch-y rotator cuff, it took me literally two minutes– okay, forty-five seconds– to wriggle out of the bed. I do not consider myself old. I do, however, feel like I’m feeling apart.
This last year is the first time I’ve ever seriously felt I’m getting decrepit. First, I had to get new glasses with a much stronger prescription. Then I had to get a pair (or six) of cheapo reading glasses with stronger magnification. Then I had to get that sexy hearing device to drape around my ear. And then I had to get sawed in half for my pancreas surgery. As if that’s not enough, my rotator cuff has suddenly become an issue. That shoulder hurts so much I can’t even move my arm to dress myself. anymore I had no idea how much I used my right shoulder, until I couldn’t use it anymore. Seriously, that list o’ ailments amounts to more than enough physical adventure for a year– for me anyway. But no!
For the last few years, my fingers have been shaking a bit. It hasn’t been a bigly problem. But as of three days ago, my shaking phalanges have manifested a noticeable escalation in their doing whatever the hell they want, despite the orders I send them. In the context of my day-to-day doings, I manage my little finger earthquakes quite effectively. The real problem occurs when I’m writing on the computers. My fingers now have a tendency to hit the keys next to the key I told it to hit. And sometimes a finger’s shaking will cause it to tap one key twice.
Trying to move the cursor where I want it to be on the screen sometimes becomes a mystery as to where it will set itself down. When I’m typing on the laptop or desktop, I begin to feel as if I’m playing with a Ouija board. Apparently, my keyboard is trying to send me a message of some sort– perhaps from the beyond. Maybe my fingers are possessed. Or maybe my keyboard is. I dunno.
All of these medical problems either happened or came to a head the second I turned 54, last March. (Well, that’s how it seems). I hope every one of these problems is resolved by the second I turn 55. I know I will continue to experience age-related physical changes– which are generally not pleasant, but oh well. I don’t fight that. I’m at peace with aging. But I hope turning 55 in a few months will bring me some better health karma. I’ll settle for whatever karma won’t pile a mountain of physical issues on me, simultaneously. Of course, that all depends on if I have any good karma coming my way. I will certainly hate it if all the karma I get is the karma I probably truly deserve.
BTW My health is good, relatively speaking. I am blessed to be so well. Despite what it might seem, I’m not complaining in this post. I’m just having a written tantrum which will pass as soon as I eat ice cream for breakfast and lunch and dinner.
