This morning I woke up knowing that I have achieved the age of 36 for the 14th time. Somebody tell me I’m having fun…but don’t use the “young” word. The “You’re half a century young” or “You’re 50 years young” is crap, not in my vocabulary, and truthful does not help or make me feel any better. Age = old so I’m facing up to it with all the hesitation and denial I can muster.

Yesterday was just another day. All body functions worked fine. This morning…well…I couldn’t pee. I’m standing in front of the porcelain, business in one hand, the other one extended with the palm up and fingers spread, with a mouth-half-open dumbfounded expression of “huh”. It’s like the plumbing knew the day and time like it were a Swiss watch. Just kidding: the morning constitutional went A-OK, but the walk was met with much anticipation.

Today I wear black only because I haven’t done laundry. I haven’t done laundry because I tire so easily these days. I tire because Viagra gives energy where I really don’t need it. My bones hurt as do my teeth. I’ve scheduled my 8th dentist appointment in the last 12 months to add a 5th crown to the less-than-a-year-old collection of 4 (along with a bridge). I can’t write the appointment day and time because the room light was too dim. I shopped Sam’s on Saturday for reading glasses, to complement my bifocal contact lenses, that don’t quite give me the “vision” unless I’m standing in an open field, at noon on a cloudless day, and I’m not wearing sunglasses…at which point I might be able to discern writing without the benefit of readers…and only if the reading is held far enough away. My dentist and I are friends and I refer to her as “Doctor Food de’Good”. I like food but am not particularly fond of mashed peas, carrots, incredibly finely chopped and ground beef, nor tapioca for desert.

Lo and behold, I meet one of my doctors on the street and call out to him: “Jack!”. I tell him my chest, knees, ankles, and back hurt today (they may all be in cahoots with a previously mentioned entity). He responds with a grin and “come see me”, which only causes me more concern regarding his intentions. I relish the thought of that appointment…I know the first name basis will be out the door when “ol’ Jack” gives the “grab you ankles” command (at least Jack has small hands).

BTW, new apparel will be purchased with any birthday gift cards received, even though I’m sure the intentions are for me not to purchase new Jockey shorts but please realize they will be needed after Jack’s appointment I’m sure.

Jack is having coffee this particular morning with my chiropractor. “Peter!” (no, I’m not going back to the previously mentioned constitutional reference with that expression) suggests I shed some of the cargo around the waist and come see him for an “adjustment” (I call it an experiment in pain management). Peter’s office – no, his La-Bore-A-Tory (you’ve got to pronounce it like an “old” horror movie scientist) – is well equiped with harnesses and straps, and sound insulated against outcrys and girly screams. According to him, losing waistline girth and tonnage would make my bones not hurt as much, joints squeak less, make chest pain tolerable, but it won’t cause my cancellation of the 5th crown with the dentist. 

Peter’s suggestion reminded me that I did give myself the once-over, butt-naked look in the mirror this morning and quite frankly, I wondered aloud who just showered with me. That person has hair growing downward (nose, ears, tongue, chin, etc.) and some of his body parts are following the hair’s lead (not all however). This all happened over night…even a huge dinner plate size bald spot on top of the noggin. All these events occurred before I got to work.

Once at work, I scratch the bald spot in wonder: is knowing your doctors on a first name basis a good thing or bad? Regardless, the work day started with four conversations that commenced with “Mr.” and concluded with “Sir”. New computer software upgrades were “available” and now I sit staring at my monitor in hopes of an intelligence revelation on how the new software works, and why what I once had, now doesn’t…apparently…I think. I have been sent an email by a colleague to remind me to check my email…which ironically tells me my birth month is “Men’s Health Month”. An AARP application greets me with morning mail (in a cheery tone I might add). My life insurance agent has not sent me a birthday card and has not returned my phone calls. I’ve been to the bathroom twice – once only to see if I needed to repeat the morning “huh” gesture to the friend downstairs.

I only kid with most of my morning diary log. Rest assured (I’m thinking I don’t like that expression either), the vessel still seems to be afloat and sea-worthy for a while longer. The Captain however may or may not be in full command. Despite not receiving a formal invitation, I’ve joined “The Club” along with my brothers and dad. Now that I’m a “member”, I can be grumpy and get away with it, forget things and they be understood, speak my mind and know I’m written off as just a codger.

It will be better tomorrow. But today, leave me alone, I forgot which hill to go over, and just who in the hell are you anyway?

tm