This the third and final of my spring ventings. I’ve covered stainless steel appliances, Windows 10 and I finish up with me…well, with my body to be more precise. Here’s vent #3…
3. My Body – Every day my body tells me it wants a time-out. I give it credit for creativity because it continually finds new ways to tell me. It changes the excuses almost daily. In addition to every joint and muscle hurting at one time or another, I swear my brain hurts too.
I have never had a great body. Charles Atlas, a body builder back in the 1950s used to run cartoon advertising that showed some bully kicking sand in the face of a skinny guy lying on the beach. Skinny guy then mail-orders Charlie’s body building course and within a few weeks he turns into the Incredible Hulk. He returns to the beach and kicks the crap out of the bully. I filled in the coupon, but never heard back from Charles Atlas. I was just a kid, but I felt total rejection. Charles Atlas had kicked sand in my face.
My body isn’t much better today. I have my father’s bird legs and his protruding gut which seems to fend off any attempt to reduce its girth. A year at the gym and some effort to revise bad eating habits have had no effect whatsoever…not one pound let alone one inch.
So now I am 70 and the proverbial “what works hurts and what doesn’t hurt doesn’t work” has kicked in. My eyes need new prescriptions every year, plus drops to keep them blinking smoothly without that scratching sensation.
My shoulders have developed bone spurs that can hurt like hell and are causing a toll on the dishes while I attempt to put them in the overhead cabinets that are higher than my shoulders want to go.
My limp-along left knee is long ready for its replacement but the one done on the right went so terribly wrong I am reluctant to go through it again.
Psoriasis has produced such walking-dead deposits of ugliness on my elbows that old ladies scream and little kids stare at it, mesmerized in wonderment.
There’s a little cancer in the prostate but the doctor tells me not to worry, my failing eyesight will have me run over by a truck long before the cancer kicks in.
My years’ long battle with a sleep disorder has officially resulted in spouts of narcolepsy during the day whereby I instantly fall asleep only to quickly awaken as my head crashes onto the desk or into the keyboard. I have probably sustained more concussions than a NFL linebacker.
Meanwhile, the meds I take at night have me doing weird things like grabbing all the bedding and then wandering around the house at 3am looking for the stairs to the third floor. Why? Because I want to sleep in the bedroom up there. That sounds reasonable enough, but our house doesn’t have a third floor. Early this morning I recovered consciousness while standing across the room from the bed. There, I was holding onto the pole lamp while waiting for the bus. I do not know where I was going but I knew the bus would be along any minute. At least I would be able to sit still once on the bus because I had remembered to take my two Michael J. Fox pills, so named because if I forget to take them my body begins flailing around like Michael J. Fox.
There are a few more things I know I could mention but I can’t remember them right now because that’s one of the first things that starts going when you get…get…whatever. I forget what I was going to say.