For the next few days, I need to get out of bed and head off to work during the StupidEarly™ hours of the chilly, sub-zero mornings.
Which means before the daily post people issue me a prompt. Couple of hours after I leave today.
So I’m on my own. Winging it. Sans idea, drowning in the well of my own despair. “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”
The despair this morning arises from a lot of lack of sleep (see above), and a very sore back (partially responsible for the lack of sleep).
I worry about how many productive working years I have left. The old bod is just breaking down too quickly.
“Lose weight”, says my wife. Easy-peasy, I’ll just hack off an arm. I got a spare!
“Get more excercise,” says my back. Everyone’s just full of helpful advice.
“Get out of the damn computer chair, its been killing you slowly for years,” says my brain.
“Go work out, pump you up. Pick things up and put them down,” says Brad. Er, really, no, no thanks.
Maybe I should get a laptop and do my writing in bed? Sure, that will help :eyeroll:
But I don’t have any alternative, at least not for writing. It’s just not a good cardio sport.
At war with myself. The things I love doing most are pretty sedentary activities. Sedentary is killing me. So is age.
Exercise consists of the things I do at work. Mostly lifting and carrying and walking walking walking walking walking walking. How’s that working out for us again, back muscles?
So…yeah. Rock and a hard place. A million and one excuses not to change anything.
Dr. Cobo? Wanna tell ’em what’ll happen then? :: sigh ::
Getting old just sucks, I friggin hate it.
Whine whine bitch moan complain.
Backup singers, that’s your cue!
ParkInkSpot 