It wasn’t turning 36 a couple of weeks ago.
It’s not that I was starting high school when people I know were small children.
It’s not the cracks that get thrown out about my age, ones that I honestly don’t take that seriously.
It’s throwing out your back by carrying your baby around the record store. That and the 7 minutes it was taking me to get to a standing position while my hands flail for some sort of handle to grip.
I could tell you about lower back muscle spasms that made me grit my teeth together in order to keep from yelling out loud, about having to get in the car and pick up Beth and Riley from the doctor because of the quick squall of a storm and actually crying from the pain of shifting.
But how about this one? How about slipping on the iced over crosswalk on Pine Street on the way to work this morning, feeling that white out of over bearing pain as the back gets pulled again? I hit the street, feeling the black ice digging into my hands, and realize that it’s going to hurt but a bitch to get up from the street. I realize about the same time that a car coming down Pine will slide on the same damn ice if they hit the brakes to keep from hitting me.
After a five minute lean out where I let that grinding glass pain slide away a little bit before calling work to let them know I wouldn’t make it in again, my breathing way too heavy with trying not to yell, I hit it home.
It’s that type of fall that you hear about old people taking, that slow wincing gait and the mincing steps of avoiding ice that makes me feel old.
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4 comments:
I am sending you the biggest cosmic theoretical package of magic fingers to sweetly massage the ouch from your poor ol' back.
And God, Billy, I am a terrible friend for not recognizing your birthday. Happy Birthday, friend! I promise to make it up to you with real-live magic fingers the next time I see you.
And may I tell you that Santa brought me Karaoke Revolution Party for the PS2? That it has revolutionized my life? That I will bring it up the next time I come a-callin so that I can cajole your tender family into playing with me, all the while my secret motive being to blow your collective minds with my K.R.P. prowess? I have 11 virtual platinum albums under my belt, sir. I want to share them with you. And if howling that Whitney Houston song from the hit motion picture "The Bodyguard" is the way to do it, so be it.
With love and Lanocaine,
Jenny
ah, billy, you're not old. you're just clumsy. and i'm not just saying that because i'm older. i'm saying it because you're a sexy daddy.
if i was there i'd totally rub that out.....with a duck toy and some oil.
will lego star wars make it feel better?
Thank you Jen Jen and Scooter. Curse you Mandy for introducing a new addiction I don't need.
There have been dreams of Lego Star Wars since Sunday...
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