Yup, I’m still in my pajamas. Still recuperating from being old, or whatever condition I’m in. I’ve been napping around the living room today, going from couch to love seat, then back again. I’ve been quite boring to myself and Skitter. I’m just so bloody tired. I fall asleep at the drop of a hat, or the drop of a tie. Full disclosure: I did walk upstairs to the Tie Room once to grab my afternoon post accessories. Different Hat o’ the Day. Different Tie o’ the Day. Different Face Mask o’ the Day. I wouldn’t want to wear the exact same outfit in two different posts—ever. I do, however, stand by repeating the words on my mask. We should be nice humans to other humans, over and over again, every day. That Masked Message goes with any outfit I could ever possibly dream up.
When I tell y’all about my aches and pains—whether mental or physical, I am not in search of a pity party. I am not saying, “woe is me.” I just tell you what’s up with me and the residents of the Tie Room. And what’s up is that yesterday I woke up feeling like I’d been run over by a golf cart. My head ached, and I never get headaches. My whole body ached. It felt like a belt was tightening around my ribs. Even my Spock ear hurt. The bottoms of my feet kept cramping. I am the whitest person on the planet, but yesterday I was whiter than that. I made a bed on the couch, which I haven’t done since right after I was recovering from my Hanky Panky decapitation surgery. That’s been two years now.
I had my flu shot a few weeks ago, so I figured it wasn’t the flu. I could tell Suzanne was worried about me because she called me from work, via FaceTime, to ask me all kinds of questions about which of the COVID-19 symptoms I might be feeling. You have to understand that when Suzanne is at work, Suzanne is at work. She doesn’t know home exists. That is not a criticism, it is just a slight exaggeration. I am simply making the point that Suzanne was worried about me. She doesn’t text, call, or Face Time me from work unless there is a bigly problem. Yesterday morning, I guess she considered my health a bigly problem. She even ordered me not to die.
Anyhoo… I answered Suzanne’s questions about any possible COVID-19 symptoms I might be having. Suzanne said the questionnaire she was reading from said, based on my answers, I should go to urgent care. I don’t know everything, but I sort of know my body, and I highly doubt COVID-19 is the culprit. Nevertheless, I promised Suzanne if I didn’t feel better the next morning (today), I would hop, skip, and jump to the urgent care clinic to be tested.
Well, I woke up this morning feeling just enough better that I doubt I’ll be going for a COVID-19 test in the immediate future. My head still hurts, but not as much. My feet are still cramping up weirdly, but not as much. My chest is feeling bear-hugged too tightly, but not as tightly as it felt yesterday. I am still whiter than my usual whitest-person-on-the-planet pallor, but I’m not as white as I was yesterday.
I’m starting to think there is such a thing as “aging pains.” I remember having growing pains in my legs when I was about 10, and Mom rubbed them down with alcohol so I could fall asleep at night. Those kinds of pains mysteriously came and went for a couple of years. Just as mysteriously, I think I’m starting to have the opposite kind of pains: those growing old pains. Some days an arbitrary pain, ache, or twitch shows up and sticks around for a few hours or a few days, then it’s just as mysteriously gone. I will always be fish-belly white, but my aging pains will surely come and go. No worries here.
