There is not a single thing to be done about it:
We’re all getting older.
Each and every single day that we wake up to face the world, time is working its manipulative fingers into the very fabric of our flesh, changing us in ways we rarely appreciate, but are powerless to prevent. While youth is still on our side, we somehow think that we might be the exception to the rule—the one body that will never be ravaged by the beast of time. We look at our elders, those ancient relics in their 30’s and 40’s, and we think, “That is NEVER going to be me!”
Well, as much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news (haha! No I don’t), guess what, sucker? Yeah, you got to age just like the rest of us old fogies, and yeah, we once thought the same damn way you do right now.
It happens so fast too, y’know?
One day you’re blundering along, not a thought in your head more complicated than making plans for the weekend, getting laid, or trying to come up with enough cash to put gas in your tank, and then BOOM!!! You find yourself rolling over one morning to the sing-song anti-lullaby of your own snap-crackling bones, and you think, “What the hell is going on?”
After that, it’s all pretty much downhill.
Personally, I felt pretty young until after I had K. Something about cultivating that kid in my womb basically set off the alarm clock that told my body it was time to start falling apart. These days I have to take meds just to eat without having my stomach go into spasms, and the meds I take for that have recently led to a problem with my iron levels, meaning that I now have to take supplements that make me feel woozy, or suffer brutal leg cramps and relentless fatigue. It’s a hard knocks kind of life, I am I right?
And it’s not like I’m the only one…
By the time we’re forty, I’m pretty sure every last one of us has had at least one go-round with mystery pain—that tweaked shoulder/throbbing ankle/stiff neck that defies all logic, since to the best of our knowledge, we’ve done nothing to our body to earn its revolt—and most of us have danced with the devil of back pain, at least on occasion.
Poor Z is currently tied up in a waltz with that demon, and I couldn’t feel worse for the guy.
I know, I know, you’re probably thinking that I overworked him on Saturday, and therefore I’m the evil genius behind that curtain of spinal doom, but this is not so at all. In fact, the way my own back was feeling by the time the work was done on Saturday, we were all pretty sure it was going to be me doing that particular hobbling two-step. Z, on the other hand, felt absolutely fine. His own words after the fact were, “I didn’t even work that hard!”
We finished our work for the day, treated ourselves out for dinner, spent a nice quiet evening back at home, woke up, jumped in the truck, and headed into town to rent a carpet cleaner to finish the super-clean around here. We’d just gotten out of the truck to have a smoke (ya, ya, stop nagging at me already! I know it’s a horrible habit and I’m like, working on it and stuff) before heading into the store. The guy barks out one little cough, and bingo-bango, Bob’s your uncle, the next thing you know, we’re heading back home, all plans for the day forgotten in favor of trying to put him back into some kind of shape that did not so much resemble a question mark.
Fortunately for him, I had some pharmaceuticals left over from my last go-round with uber-pain, and while they far from fixed him right up, they’ve mellowed the agony to a workable level for him. Well, at least enough so that he went in to work this morning.
Then again, he’s stubborn as a mule and he likely would have crawled to work today if it had of come to that.
The biggest irony when it comes to aging, from my humble perspective, is that our bodies start to turn on us right as our minds stop trying to wage war. Right around the time that we’re waking up to that snap-crackling anti-lullaby for the first time, we’re just ceasing to be our own worst enemies. We’re finding that we no longer suffer from past offensives in the same crippling ways we once did. We no longer doubt ourselves so much, or endure other people’s bullshit, because we’re finally learning how to be comfortable in our own skin, and the opinions of others don’t seem like nearly such a big deal anymore.
While it would have been great to have such mental clarity in my youth, I guess it’s better late than never, and most days I’m pretty sure that the peace of mind makes up for
all most of the aches and pains.
Either way, it is what it is, and since aging is inevitable, we might as well grin and bear it.
So Saturday night, after (most of) the chores were completed, we decided to treat ourselves out for dinner at one of our favorite Japanese places in the city (Sapporo). We probably shouldn’t have, what with money being tighter than usual around here and whatnot, but we’ve been pretty good at towing the financial line lately, and so we thought, what the hell.
Actually, that’s not entirely true.
Z brought up the idea of sushi knowing that even if I tried to do the sensible thing and say “nope!” (which I did), he and the girls could just gang up on me (which they did) and then I would inevitably break (which I did). It’s a dirty trick we’ve all employed a time or two around here, since my whole family is crazy about Japanese food.
At any rate, we went, we ate, and we left so full that I felt a little high.
Even K pigs out when we’re there. It’s kind of funny to see, because she usually eats like a little bird, and she’s picky as all hell. She tends to throw out her usual food rules (no white foods, no sauces, nothing that’s been mixed together until it’s no longer identifiable at a single glance, etc.) when we go there, and she’s actually willing to try new things. As the parent of any picky child could tell you, that’s a pretty big deal. Now, every time we go, we try to make a point out of getting her to try one new item… and so far, she hasn’t found anything she really doesn’t like.
Hmm… what else?
It’s not a very exciting day around here. The sky’s all grey and gloomy, the Devil-Dog has already peed inside twice because, apparently, the cold is below him, and K forgot her backpack this morning, so I had to run out and bring it to her.
See what I mean? Today is rather bland thus far.
I guess that means that it might be a good day to make Z his favorite cranberry-almond cookies.
A couple of weeks ago, while the rain was still ravishing my neck of the woods, and the Z-man was feeling blue over not being able to work on his fence, I had every intention of making them, but as the girls and I started gathering up the ingredients, we realized that it was simply not meant to be. (My cran-raisins were past due and super stale) Since I grabbed up the missing ingredients last time I was at the store, and with him feeling less than 100%, now seems like as good a time as any.