Pass the Ben Gay
It's been a while since my last post and it's not for a lack of wanting. We've been inundated with guests (and that's fine) but I'm not surviving as well as I used to. I need my sleep these days. And it's not even beauty sleep. It's sleep purely for the purpose of being able to function. I'm getting old.
I got my mid-life crisis over with last year for my 29th birthday with the acquisition of my (first) tattoo. (There have been no subsequent ones, but I'm not about to rule out another one or two.) This year, as my 30th birthday approaches, I seem to be simply accepting the fact that I will now start to fall apart.
If the guy who changed the oil alters the driver's seat, my shoulder gets sore. If I have a nap on the couch, I'm risking an achy neck. And now, for no apparent reason, my right ankle is boycotting normalcy. Even this one has my chiropractor stumped - I haven't bought new shoes, or even worn any heels lately. I've never been athletic enough to have traumatized it in some previous sports career. I don't remember twisting it recently ... mind you I never remember where any of my bruises came from, so anything's possible. I'm not the best at recounting recent history - another sign of deterioration, I'm sure.
At least my usual ailments have reasons for being and have known methods of recovery. This, however, seems to be purely a failure on the part of my aging joints. There doesn't seem to be any inherent message to slow down, or to stop, or to adjust...something. Instead, it's more like a whiny "I just don't wanna do it".
Well, too bad for you, ankle. I need to walk, drive and hit the sustain pedal on the piano. I'm not asking anything of you that is particularly taxing. Think of all the poor athletic ankles over in Athens right now.
Oh dear. I may have to get used to talking to various body parts over the coming years. First, an ankle, next perhaps a wrist. My eyes are already slacking off; maybe I'd better get on their case sooner rather than later. This is going to be a lot of work.
I've less than two months left of my second decade. I'd better enjoy it while my body lets me.
I got my mid-life crisis over with last year for my 29th birthday with the acquisition of my (first) tattoo. (There have been no subsequent ones, but I'm not about to rule out another one or two.) This year, as my 30th birthday approaches, I seem to be simply accepting the fact that I will now start to fall apart.
If the guy who changed the oil alters the driver's seat, my shoulder gets sore. If I have a nap on the couch, I'm risking an achy neck. And now, for no apparent reason, my right ankle is boycotting normalcy. Even this one has my chiropractor stumped - I haven't bought new shoes, or even worn any heels lately. I've never been athletic enough to have traumatized it in some previous sports career. I don't remember twisting it recently ... mind you I never remember where any of my bruises came from, so anything's possible. I'm not the best at recounting recent history - another sign of deterioration, I'm sure.
At least my usual ailments have reasons for being and have known methods of recovery. This, however, seems to be purely a failure on the part of my aging joints. There doesn't seem to be any inherent message to slow down, or to stop, or to adjust...something. Instead, it's more like a whiny "I just don't wanna do it".
Well, too bad for you, ankle. I need to walk, drive and hit the sustain pedal on the piano. I'm not asking anything of you that is particularly taxing. Think of all the poor athletic ankles over in Athens right now.
Oh dear. I may have to get used to talking to various body parts over the coming years. First, an ankle, next perhaps a wrist. My eyes are already slacking off; maybe I'd better get on their case sooner rather than later. This is going to be a lot of work.
I've less than two months left of my second decade. I'd better enjoy it while my body lets me.
posted by Jenn at
9:59 p.m.
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