I’ve been spending a lot of time flat on my back lately. Why? Well, because I hurt my back. Rather badly. You want to know how? By coughing.
Yep, I said coughing. I coughed so hard for so long that I sent my back muscles into what appear to be semi-permanent spasms. Or so my doctor said.
You know how that makes me feel? Old. It makes me feel old.
If I was stuck propped up on a heating pad because I’d spent too much time lifting weights, or climbing rock walls, or dancing stupidly in a club somewhere, I’d feel okay about myself. But no. My body is simply…falling apart.
How dumb is that?
Very. Very, very dumb.
I think that perhaps it’s a sign. A sign that I’ve been living in my head for too damn long. I think that when I can move again I should probably, well, move more often.
Or at least do some core exercises. So, you know, I can hold the hunched over Blogger’s Posture for longer without causing permanent damage.
I wonder—when this generation of women gets older, will there be a new set of syndromes/diseases discovered? Ailments caused by a career in mommy blogging?
My Magic 8 Ball says it’s probable, but still too soon to tell.
Maybe we all need those standing desks. The ones attached to treadmills, so you have to learn to walk and type at the same time. Although I don’t think I’d really be very good at that. I have trouble simply walking and drinking coffee at the same time.
Perhaps I should start donating money to clone research. So I can just pop my brain in a new body when this one has had enough.
I’d rather give my money to the people who purchase goats for family in third world countries though. I’ve always wanted to be part owner of a goat.
I think maybe I’ll buy my grandma a goat for Christmas, as a matter of fact. She’s so cranky that nothing makes her happy anyway. So why not use her Christmas gift money to make someone else happy?
At 90, she’s entitled to be a little crabby, though. Especially since her rheumatoid arthritis is so bad she can barely walk anymore.
Did you know rheumatoid arthritis is hereditary? It is.
So maybe the clone research donation is the wiser way to go.
Although Alzheimer’s also runs in my family. In which case, a new body wouldn’t do me much good. There’s no putting a moldy brain in a fresh body, after all.
I think maybe I’ll invest in a micro-winery instead. Wine makes all your problems go away, right?
Disclaimer: The above was written while my current, non-moldy brain was battling industrial strength painkillers. Forgive the nonsensicalness.