Tuesday, January 8, 2013

You're only as old as you complain

I don't know what is happening to me. Age, I guess. I have a new malady, before I have even recovered from the last. I can't tell what it is, just a pain emanating from a muscle or nerve-grouping underneath the right buttock. Already, people ask me why I'm limping. This new affliction makes it impossible to sit or stand comfortably, though standing is better. Yesterday I stood and worked, leaning over to type on the computer, putting excess pressure on my dead left wrist. Each new pain forces me to cause another elsewhere; compensating for one forces its related injury. I am tempted to start using a steroid I was prescribed, prednisone. Or, I could induce myself into the haze of pain killers and try to work like that all day, exacerbating whatever is wrong by ignoring it.

If anybody ever wonders how cool it is to get old, how distinguished you'll be, remember me. I'm only 44. Every physical problem I have began in my forties. If I ever hear somebody tell me that I'm only as old as I feel I think I'll use my remaining life force to slap the remaining shit out of them. 

When it's over I'll give them a fine smile and tell them the slap was only as hard as it felt.