I’ve been getting stiff all over lately and I can’t blame it on the weather. There hasn’t been any rain in ages. Today was PER-fect: no humidity; pleasant sunshine; a comfortable temperature in the late teens with a light, refreshing breeze.
All the reading I’ve been cramming lately must be to blame! Too much sitting in one spot with my nose buried deep between the covers. Neck’s a bit strained too from peering ever closer to the page. Book club meeting is tomorrow and I’ve left reading the two books up for discussion way too late (five days prior to…I forgot what calendar day we were on, OK?) As a result, I think that’s why my knees have been locking up. They feel like they’re rusting shut. Getting out of the Easyboy has been giving me some trouble. I feel like one of those wooden barrels they age wine in or a stiff, aged piece of driftwood. What am I saying? Wooden? Driftwood? Stiff? Yeah. Close enough.
You’ve heard that commercial where someone says “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” haven’t you? The thing is, I recently heard that play in my head when I got down on my hunches to pick something up off the floor and there wasn’t anything handy to grab onto to pull myself back up again. I was STUCK. After freaking out for what felt like hours, they finally unhinged. Or maybe I unhinged them with the sheer power of mind over matter. Lucky me for that. Not lucky that I had to have a nightmare about it later that night though. Why is it that the nightmare felt even worse than the real thing?
Anyway, this new inflexibility is going to require a plan of action. We used to tell our kids to “nip it in the bud” when they started picking up bad habits. I guess it’s time to do just that. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I should get off my fat butt and get back into action on my elliptical machine—while I STILL CAN. Oh, I just noticed that my waistline’s spread into new territory and my belly’s done likewise. No wonder I haven’t taken notice my knees’ urge to seize up. I couldn’t see them. It’s always something these days. Oil can with a long spout’s on my Christmas list.
If, women, like wine, get better with age, why am I falling apart?
Books referred to above:
- The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski (562 pages)
- The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton (541 pages)