Yesterday was my birthday. Today, I'm falling apart. Are these two things related? Odds are good the answer is yes.
I have discovered that birthdays over the age of forty are a very different critter than the celebrations of one's late twenties and thirties. There's still laughter and friends/family, but somewhere along the way (the exact age varies person to person) we stop celebrating the fact we're finally growing up/becoming adults and start celebrating the fact we're still here. Still breathing. Still more or less in control of our destiny. (ha!)
Oh, it's subtle at first. A yearning for life to slow down just a little. A sense that perhaps we could hit the brakes more often as we gradually start putting more milestones behind us than are in front of us. First year. First decade. Teenager. Sweet Sixteen. Legal Drinking Age (loved this one) Twenty-one. Quarter of a century. Holy crap is that thirty up ahead? *taps brakes* And so it goes.
But I digress. Damn it, that's another aging thing isn't it? Wandering off topic? What's next, telling everyone about the good old days? Talking about getting up at the crack of dawn to feed the horses? Git off my lawn! Hmmm nope. That one still doesn't feel right. I guess I'm not that old yet. Phew.
Back to the issue at hand. Specifically my hand, and the fact it was the first part of me to fail. When I went to bed last night I was contented, sated on prime rib and well wishes. This morning I woke up broken. I can't close my left hand. Somehow, somewhere in the course of the night, my knuckles ceased to function as they should. Typing this hurts. Stretching hurts. It's slowly improving over the course of the day, but let me tell you that trying to fasten a bra behind one's back when one hand doesn't work is akin to trying to stuff an angry octopus into a net. It's damned near impossible and bits keep pushing through the holes.
I'm getting ahead of myself again though. My hand was the first thing to fail. It wasn't the only thing. When I got out of bed, discovered that my left heel didn't want to touch the floor. Left side again. Seeing the pattern? So I limped to the shower, muttering under my breath and feeling about ninety-two years old.
Both the hand and the heel are improving with Advil and stretching. But I fear this is the beginning of the end.What will tomorrow bring? Is this a cascade failure in progress, or is the universe just messing with me?
I guess I'll find out in about 20 hours.
Until then. I've got things to do while I still have the use of all my limbs. (mostly.)