Old Lady

I called in sick to work today, but I probably should have called in old.

On Monday night Ryan I went to see Modest Mouse and Rilo Kiley (young people bands) on the campus of UVSC. For those of you who have never been there the entire school is built in that early 1980's concrete construction known best as "bomb shelter." Even the grassy areas are surrounded by high cement curbs, one of which I tripped and fell over as we were walking back to our car. From what Ryan tells me it was a pretty spectacular fall. I went straight down, not even stumbling or bending my knees, like I was doing some kind of super push up. Then I just laid there. Ryan thought I was dead, but I was really just hoping I would melt into the grass so I wouldn't have to get up and explain myself to the people we were with. Eventually though, I got up, and tried to shake it off. That turned out to be not as easy as I would have liked.

The next day my toes and my neck hurt. Not like anything was broken, but just shocked. I took some Motrin and soldiered on. Then on Wednesday my lower back and arms decided they really weren't getting enough attention and began aching as well. By last night I was walking like I'm ninety, and groaning every time I had to move. Oh, and as if all that wasn't bad enough my period started as if to remind me no cramp tops those from my uterus. So, I took what was most likely a toxic level of Motrin and Midol, called work to tell them not to expect me, and went to bed.

What happened to the days of bouncing back? Of falling down seven flights of stairs only to jump up and yell "ta dah"? Of staying out until three in the morning and going to work at seven feeling fine? Now if I don't sleep at least six hours a night I have the personality of a wounded shrew. I can't drink coffee any more without it hurting my stomach. I used to drink ten cups a day. Spicy food gives me heart burn. So does greasy food. However, there used to be days when I didn't eat anything that wasn't deep fried and covered in salsa. I worry about fiber now. That's how old I've gotten.

Tara says I'm not old and that I should just shut up. But she has to say that. She's older than I am. I think she even wears support hose, but you didn't hear that from me.