Sunday, July 26, 2015

Quickies: Heartfelt Sympathies Dept.

     Currently at a loss for how to continue Statesman and bored with all my pastimes, I resorted to the Web. Presently I wandered over to Sarah Hoyt’s place. Sarah writes about as frequently as I and always at respectable length, so she’s a good bet for a diversion at just about any time.

     And I found this gem:

     ...followed by this plaint:

     Yesterday older son and I were talking while driving back from Denver from looking at apartments for him, and we agreed this being dragged around in a vehicle of flesh is a pain in the behind. Because with the drive to Denver and some duties still at the other house (such as being there for handymen and such) we’re netting about viewing an apartment a day.

     In fact, he says, the whole apartment thing is a nuisance, because he should be able to just send his mind over to attend classes, of course.

     In my case, this is more critical because of course the flesh thing is no longer working all too well, so it keeps giving out on me when I least expect it to.

     This is to say that now that we punted back from working in the house 12 hours a day to about 3 hours in the evening, I’m slowly coming up from “stupidly tired.”

     And yes we should be done by the end of the week. And the writing should start again today.

     BUT I was shocked at how tired I was. How tired? Well, full dose ibuprofen was not DENTING pain. I still wanted to cry every time I moved. I not only couldn’t concentrate on reading a book, I couldn’t stand on listening to a book. And eating stuff with flavor was too much work, so I was living on milk. We came up from this to being able to eat and read comics, and today interest in reading other stuff.

     The thing is, I HOPE this is because of the surgery four months ago. I mean, I’m not that old and I was never that bizarrely tired before.

     I sympathize. My God, how I sympathize! I’m a few years older yet, and I can’t believe how long it takes me to lever myself out of bed in the morning. I mean, a certain reluctance to rise from a warm bed co-occupied by a beautiful woman is to be expected, especially at 4:00 AM, but really!

     Sarah my secret love, I wouldn’t be surprised if the surgery is part of it, but as much as I hate to tell you this, I must: weariness of the persistent sort also arises from the depredations of age...and it tends to intensify its grip as the years pass. Few are fortunate enough to feel even somewhat vital all the way into their sixties and seventies. And no, I’m not generalizing from a single datum.

     [That last was intended for my distant sweetie Duyen, who turned forty this year and can’t stop lamenting “the end of my youth.” Be at peace, you diminutive Vietnamese-American vixen; this too shall pass away...though I don’t expect either of us to like that process, either.]


pdwalker said...

I think it's the price we pay for gained wisdom.

(*snort* *giggle*)

CGHill said...

For what it's worth, I have always thought of Duyen as twenty-nine, and I will probably continue to do so when she's sixty.

Col. B. Bunny said...

Would that I had an ability to bound out of bed or jog around the neighborhood as I used to. And I won't be lugging an 80-lb. pack more than 100 yards on level ground with a strong following wind. However, the immune system is ticking over as per blueprint. Not a small thing considering that yet another person of my acquaintance is dealing with MRSA.