You and I Are Too Old to Not Expect More Shit to Happen

Old for This Sh*t: How to Take Your Life Back from an Ageist Society

Photo by Sander Sammy on Unsplash

Well, ouch.

Dear Reader, this will be short because sitting up hurts too much to write a tome.

It was bound to happen.

Eight days and eight crime thrillers ago I was standing in my bathroom. My left foot, which had just had surgery, was up on the sink, in a pose my friend JC calls “flamingo-ing.” I was told to keep it elevated.

So I flamingoed.

Well, sort of. Flamingos don’t do what I did.

I’d misjudged the angle by perhaps two inches. I was standing just that much too close to the sink. When I tipped my head back to put eye drops in, well, physics.

I windmilled backwards towards my tub. Had just enough wherewithal to pitch my noggin forward to protect my head before I slammed my ribs into the edge of a porcelain tub.

Full body weight.

If you have ever bounced, bruised, cracked or broken a rib or ribs, you know precisely how this felt, and will feel for the next six weeks.

I did make it to Urgent Care. Nothing broken or cracked, good news. Pat on the butt, sorry you’re hurt, and BTW, don’t get hiccups or sneeze.

For the last seven or eight days, I forget, I have been on my couch (okay it’s my dog’s couch), unable to do much more that shuffle to the toilet, shuffle back, thank my very kind neighbors for walking my energetic dog.

I mean really thank my neighbors for walking my dog.

Who, when she returns, loves to leap onto HER couch where HER mommy is trying to rest. She is a seventy-pound missile of flying energy, landing my broken ribs.

I love my dog enough not to throttle her. Thank god for kennels.

Today was the first day I could sit up long enough to do this.

Now it hurts too much to continue.

But I will say this much: you know you’re low on groceries when you start eating your supplies of beef jerky and the three-year old package of frozen Costo peas and carrots. Oh. And mixing up that package of dried cream meant for camping.

I wonder what’s at the back of my freezer?

Six weeks. Four sprained ribs. A badly bruised back.

And one foot in a boot after surgery.

Shit happens, man.

But this: I love John Sanford. And I have chewed through eight in the Lucas Davenport Prey series. Reading vs. movies.

No complaints about that. No headlines, just great writing.

I can’t play much, but I’ll play however I can.

Meanwhile Mika is happy to make a mess that I get to clean up later. When I can stand up without cursing.

Thank you for reading. More to follow when I can sit up longer.