GETTING OLDER IS NOT ALL ITS’ MADE OUT TO BE.

Getting up every morning has become a colossal pain in my: legs, back, hands and neck. My rear end seems fine. (Thought I was going to say “ass,” didn’t you.)

Taking those first steps out of my warm cozy bed, where the spot is just right is a trauma. Now I can lay awake all night, and have trouble falling asleep until about ½ hour before it is time to arise. At that point, you will find me sound asleep, locked into a truly comfortable position, happily unaware of the world. (I often wonder if this is what death is like.) Some how, and I can’t explain it, I awaken in time to see the dreaded digital tormenter tell me it’s time to get up. Now I have to trek to my armoire, to find my underwear and off to the shower. Stepping onto the cold tile floor of the bathroom is the process of awakening, along with the knife-like piercing of the lights that attack my mind, soul and eyes. Then comes the test. Will I continue this horror, or will I call in sick around 8:30 am??? I continue the horror. I shave, probably the most annoying thing I can do outside of paying an increase in the price of gas at the pump. But once I step into that shower, all changes. I start to think of some project I’m working on at the office, and coming up with an idea. The morning starts to happen. I dress, make the bed, (even if Ellen’s still asleep in it,) and go downstairs to perform other rituals that will allow me to continue this day in peace. It is at this point that I consider my earlier decision to not call in sick, but have my coffee and read my paper. At this point I get into my car and approach the LIE. It is at this point that I consider my earlier decision to not call in sick, but get on the LIE anyway. I drive through slowdowns, bumper to bumper, (It is at this point that I consider my earlier decision to not call in sick,) until I reach the office. It is at this point that I consider my earlier decision to not call in sick, but go in anyway, where I quietly go into my office, close the door, and sob until lunch.

And what still hurts?

My: legs, back, hands and neck. My rear end seems fine. (Thought I was going to say “ass,” didn’t you.)