On Becoming Less Young

Becoming less young is a rather fascinating experience. I have to put it that way — less young — because I can't see it, or at least can't say it, as becoming old yet — not yet!

Although I am now over the sixty hump, and the idea of becoming less young isn't as novel, I still find myself wondering at the process that is inexorably occurring to me, the processes occurring within me.

Tonight, it's the right leg. It's five AM, and I've been up for hours and slept fitfully before then. The leg from rump to knee along the back is causing me grief and some fascination. For some time now, I've experienced soreness of the back legs, and although Celebrex has helped lately, it's not a total cure. I take it in the morning, and it has often seemed to wear off before the next morning.

But that's a nagging general soreness of an ache in both legs. Tonight, it was multiplied by five or maybe more in one leg only, and I don't know if it's the same thing or something different. Why one leg and not both? Why tonight when I can't think of a cause?

Three strong Tylenols and a hot bath have helped somewhat but only somewhat. It helps to be up doing too. Even though the pain is still there, one can work through it to some degree. But when you lie there in the stillness trying to find the unconsciousness of sleep, it's too loud and insistent on the nerves as it were.

So I got up. Had my Tylenols. Tried to rest in my Lazy Boy. Got up again. Went to the basement to find the portable heater to warm the bathroom because it's really cold tonight (what's up with that?). Came back upstairs to find that Sir Cat had gifted me with a puke. Cleaned it up. Ran the water. Found a dry towel in the closet. Explained to my Sweatheart that I was not really hosting a convention. Squirted eyedrops into my sleepy eyes so that I could read in the tub. Soaked. Towelled. Went to bed again. Got up again. Blogged.

My prose seems quite wonderful to me now but by morning it will probably read like Sir Cat's earlier offering. What's the old saying: Many are called; puke are chosen?

I don't know what's up with the leg. I have a big day planned for Saturday, have had for quite some time now. It involves a lot of driving followed by a lot of sitting followed by a lot of driving. Will I have to cancel because of this stupid leg thing? Should I call the doctor? Can she see me at short notice? Would she have a clue anyway. I mean it does seem rather bizarre. How should she know what it's all about?

But it is fascinating, this business of becoming less young. I have observed that almost everyone has symptoms of one sort or another. Compared to some, I'll take mine and be glad — except for the cat puke and the possible letdown looming on Saturday. It offered me a blog topic after all.