First off, after a walk and doing a little light yard work today, my hips feel like they're made of hot iron. My shoulders ache too. This is a new thing. Aching shoulders. What's up with that?
Age. Muthafuckin' age. That's what.
My knees don't feel that good either.
My mind is going. Yesterday I went to the library to return an audio book that I just couldn't listen to. A new Anne Rice about the Vampire Lestat. Now I liked old Lestat when Anne first started writing about him but as the books progressed, the bloodlines (haha!) got so complex that I doubt even she could follow them. And this book started out with all of that and I couldn't follow it. And I didn't care. And she used the word "preternatural" three times in about the first three pages. That was always one of her favorite words and I see that it still is. Anyway, whatever, blah, blah, blah, I decided to take it back. Fine. I go into the library, put an audio book into the media return, find a few different ones to check out, have a conversation with the librarian about Anne Rice books, go back to my car, run into an old friend, chat for about twenty minutes, get in my car and drive to Publix. I check my email on my phone because I am obsessive about that shit. I find an e-mail from the librarian telling me that I have returned NOT the Anne Rice book but the book I am currently listening to in the car and therefore, disc 3 was missing. This is Amy Pohler's book, "Yes Please" and I am enjoying that just fine so after Publix, I drove back to the library and checked that one back out and returned the Anne Rice book.
I think. I think I returned that one.
This is typical behavior for me these days.
However, this is the most telling thing of all: today I not only ironed pillowcases, I ironed THE FITTED BOTTOM SHEET AND THE TOP SHEET AS WELL! Stop it, Mary. Just stop it.
Even worse (can it get any worse?), I used light spray starch!
I spent an hour and a half of my life ironing sheets. It takes a long time to iron a king-sized sheet, let me just tell you.
Those sheets better feel better than anything I've ever felt in my life and that includes, you know, sex.
Which I can't have on those sheets because I spent an hour and a half ironing them and I am not about to mess them up.
Old. I am old.
Well, I better get in there and make supper. I'm going to cook pork chops while I still have the teeth to eat them with.
I wish this was a joke.
It is not.
I hear that Owen got his cast off today. Hurray! Hurray! Magnolia June will be five weeks old tomorrow.
There is that. And that makes it all worthwhile.
That, too, is not a joke.