My boredom has no boundries
I find myself looking more attentively at Hoveround scooter commercials. I'm wondering how I can get a Stana stair lift installed. Those walk-in bathtubs are looking mighty nice about now. In other words, I have turned elderly overnight. My get-up-and-go has got up and left. Being in fierce pain all day long has enacted a tylenol habit. I have no other topic of conversation other than my health. I'm freaking unsteady on my feet and worrying about falling.
I have turned into the epitome of a TV elderly woman. I hate myself for this. Honest, I'm tired of feeling like crap every single day, and then the freaking knee. This is one woman who was hoping the Rapture was real, so I could get this all over with in one fell swoop. Now I feel gypped.
Watching American Chopper last night I watched Paul Sr. struggle with his age, too. He's 3 years older than I am, a former cocaine addict and alcoholic, plus a long time steroid user (hence his reprehensible temper?) , but the fact is, he's looking a lot like a hard-scrabble, school of hard knocks old man. Not that this makes me feel better, because it does not, but at least I see that at 60ish, it isn't uncommon to live with chronic pain and knarly health problems.
So now I can cheerily meld into old age. This means growing my hair long so I can wear it in a long braid like the old psychiatrists in Woody Allen films. I can also wear bohemian clothing from central America and giant clunky jewelry. I need to up my medical vocabulary and learn how to interfere in my children's love lives. I'll be buying the dented cans in the market, and asking total strangers for help reaching top shelf items. I'll get a lot of funky reader glasses at CVS and lose them all over the house.
So much to look forward to! What was I bitching about boredom for, anyhow? Stumble It! JBlog Me