According to the Chinese calendar, this is the year 4709 or 4710, depending on which website you believe. Any way I look at it, this calendar is making me over 120 years old. That’s not good. Maybe I’m not figuring this out right. It’s all too much math for me, but 60 or 120, I’m feeling it.
If you’re anything like me, you wake up in the morning, and before you even get out of bed, you know you can’t even swing your legs over the edge without experiencing some sort of physical misfunction. (Is that even a word?) Maybe ‘swinging’ isn’t such a good idea. Maybe, just maybe, those days are over.
OK. So tomorrow, the new approach to getting up will be a slow-motion sliding of the legs off the bed. And the feet don’t hit the floor running. They do a soft, easing to the rug after nose-diving into a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers. A little bit of bending, stretching, and moaning and then I’ll hit the shower.
There I go again. My verbs are way to physical. Hitting the shower is so far from what I do. I could explain this process too, but I won’t go there. Let’s skip to breakfast.
It would be fun to sit down to a morning medley of bacon and eggs, rye toast with actual butter, a glass of freshly squeezed OJ, maybe a cute little dish of mixed berries, and a cup of freshly brewed java.
Instead, I slap a banana and a fruity yogurt into a fancy lunch tote.
After letting the dogs out for their morning constitutional, and back in so they can sleep the morning away, (I’d like to try that.) I rush off to my job, where I make myself a quick cup of coffee and throw down some of that yummy yogurt.
I’m tired before I even start, because I haven’t slept well since Cain slew Abel, and I don’t plan on getting back home until it’s as dark as when I left.
I’m not having any fun.
Sounds depressing. I know.
I need to find a ‘happy place’. Or maybe I just need to stop and smell that java (see above). The aches and pains are going to be there, no matter what. It comes with the passing of time. It could be worse. I’m actually pretty fortunate. See, happy place.
Breakfast? I can do that on Saturday or Sunday. Or Saturday AND Sunday.
Fun? It’s what you make it, or so ‘they’ say, and ‘they’ seem to ‘say’ many things that are apparently public consensus. Like, ‘this too shall pass’.
Until June 19. That’s when summer starts, snow days permitting, and retirement kicks in. And yes, I am using the proper verb – KICKS. It will be kicking in, while I’m kicking up my heals, and kicking the sand on the beach, and kicking myself in the head for worrying so much about nothing.