Everything Hurts and I’m (Not) Dying
Not yet, anyway
That image fits. I feel about as prickly as a cactus.
Getting older sucks until you consider the alternative.
Right now, my poor body has had about all it can take. I’ve been in and out of doctor’s offices for the last four months and I’m beginning to feel like I’ve hit my limit.
My out-of-pocket maximum limit, anyway.
The head-to-toe list of everything that’s currently wrong with me is so vast that it’s one of the reasons I’m still not dating. Nobody in their right mind would want to get involved with someone who literally has warning lights flashing on all sectors of her body.
It’s frustrating, too, because I have stuff I want to do, but my body won’t cooperate. I can’t go on a hike because I have bad feet and hips. I can’t join a softball team due to adhesive capsulitis in my shoulders. I can’t tolerate extreme heat because my heart gets all floofy and I have trouble breathing. For two full months earlier this year, I had the runs every day and prayed I wouldn’t have an accident while I was away from home. The good news is, there’s nothing wrong with my fingers and (hopefully) nothing wrong with my brain, so I can at least keep writing and keep you entertained, dear reader. But I can’t even do something as simple as go out…
