Ya know, it could be the imminent arrival of my granddaughter into this world. Or it could be the fact that my last haircut revealed that the salt outnumbers the pepper up there.
Maybe its the fact that I overestimated my ability to chop, prune, weed, mow and mulch. Or it could be that I tried to clean out one too many closets this week.
Not sure what happened, but I woke up yesterday and realized that I feel like I’ve been run over by a cement truck. I feel about 200 years old.
You name the body part, it hurt. My posture looked remarkably like a question mark.
It hurt enough to keep me awake last night. So I got up at midnight and took two ibuprofin. Laid back down. Twenty minutes later, my achy/nauseous stomach got me back up for some Tums. Laid back down. Neck hurt. Got an ice pack. Laid back down. Dozed.
I must have fallen asleep, because I was yanked awake when my right calf turned into a giant ball of searing pain and I had to jump up and flex my foot.
I love summer. I love the green yard, the gorgeous blossoms, the warm air. I love the smell of cut grass.
But my aging carcass is beginning to long for a nice cool rainy day where I’d be forced to sit still in my recliner and doze while the soup simmers on the stove.
I must be getting old.