I know, I know. I shouldn't have a damn thing to bitch about...I don't even work a full week.
I'm tellin ya, though...the 2.5 days this week has whipped my ass. I slept like I was dead last night. I got off at noon today and was gonna come home and enjoy this gorgeous weather, get a few pots ready for plantin and just, in general, fart around outside.
So what'd I do? I took a 2 hour nap, instead.
I'm such a putz.
The thing is, I've had a lot to do this week. Lotsa people to go see. And every one of those assholes (they're not really assholes...their choice of living arrangements is just...assholish) has lived, either on the friggin third floor of an apartment building (with no elevator, of course), or in a house on a steep hill that has about 87 steps up to it, OR in a gawddamned split-level house...with the living room upstairs.
Now normally, that'd be a good thing. Stair climbing is great exercise...and it'd have gone really well with my new, previously-posted-about eating plan. I've done great, btw...I'm really proud of myself. Honest ta gawd...I swear I feel better already.
Well. Except for my knee.
See...my left knee is givin me fits. Old football injury. No, actually it's from falling directly on it...on concrete...three or four times over the last 25 years or so. I've lost count. I'm not just a putz...I'm a clutzy putz heh. My knee joint prolly looks like a piece of shattered glass. I know it feels like that.
Anywho, it's making the simple act of walking an exercise in...well...an exercise. When I get up from a sitting position, it sounds like somebody waddin up an empty potato chip sack. And ya should see me walk...I walk like I've got a cob up my ass. (Yet another quaint colloquialism from me dear old dad.)
Climbing stairs just plain hurts like a mofo. And it's noisy, too.
And since I've been babying the left knee, I put more strain on the right one. And it's startin to whine about it. Pussy.
I think it's time for another shot in the knee. I hate it. It doesn't hurt...much. But just seein that big, ole needle goin directly into my knee joint gives me a raging case of the heebie jeebies.
What irony. At age 54, my head is finally in the right place...but my body is in the shitter.
I wonder if they make walkers with red metallic finishes?