(I’ll let you decide which is which.)<\/p>\n
Although I have not yet been officially declared brain dead, I’m sure there’s panel being convened somewhere to discuss the issue. <\/p>\n
However, it appears that physically I still survive.<\/p>\n
—–<\/p>\n
I’ve thought for a long time now that getting old was a pretty cool thing. I’ve enjoyed the anonymity and the not giving a flying eff aspect of it. Not having to answer to anybody. Not being inspected for my sexual value as I walk down the street. Dressing as I please. Not much caring what others think. Hearing that the world is going to end in the Next! Screaming! Crisis! and knowing it won’t. Meeting a likable man and not immediately falling into that absurd “will we or won’t we” social dance. <\/p>\n
Now I’m seeing the other aspect of getting old and cool is not the word for it — although cold chills apply.<\/p>\n
—–<\/p>\n
My appetite finally returned yesterday, although the pleasure of fine dining (aka heating up a can of Campbell’s Hearty Bean and Ham) is diminished by spasmodic coughing fits between bites. Or worse, during them.<\/p>\n
On the other hand, I’m now back at my high school weight, which has been a casual goal for a while. It was only a few pounds to lose, but they were persistent suckers.<\/p>\n
This isn’t the way I’d have chosen to lose them, though.<\/p>\n
—–<\/p>\n
I’m so hopelessly behind in reading, let alone answering, my email that I’ve given up trying. I can only apologize for not responding — and contemplate why a virtual (and therefore non-existant) mailbox littered with bits and bytes fills me with such dread.<\/p>\n
I did ease back into cruising the ‘Net yesterday. Couldn’t handle the news (gods forbid, are we still<\/em> supposed to feel sorry for those out-of-paycheck TSA gropers and thieves, who even with their supposed hardships make more than their less pervy peers<\/a>?).<\/p>\n But I may have some thrilling dog-rescue videos for you later.<\/p>\n —– <\/p>\n In the meantime, I’m nerving myself up actually to getting out of bed this morning and perhaps even bathing my sweaty self and washing my sweaty bedclothes. We’ll see how far I progress in these monumental leaps toward health and normal life.<\/p>\n If all goes well, I may even dress and go to the post office to check my mail. <\/p>\n Don’t count on anything so wildly, boldly dramatic as a half-mile trek to the PO, though. Small steps, small steps …<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n Meanwhile, I’m cheered and carried along by your good wishes. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" (I’ll let you decide which is which.) Although I have not yet been officially declared brain dead, I’m sure there’s panel being convened somewhere to discuss the issue. However, it appears that physically I still survive. —– I’ve thought for a long time now that getting old was a pretty cool thing. I’ve enjoyed the anonymity and the not giving a flying eff aspect of it. Not having to answer to anybody. Not being inspected for my sexual value as I walk down the street. Dressing as I please. Not much caring what others think. Hearing that the world is…<\/p>\n