After The Rain
Here’s where I fall into the stereotype of bloggers everywhere from the last ten years: I’m going to bitch about what hurts.
- My neck.
- My shoulders, particularly the muscles behind my shoulder blades.
- My elbows.
- My sternum.
- Both of my knees.
- My ankles.
- There’s one tendon on the top of my left foot that has shifted out of place, and screams at me with each step.
I really don’t have a lot of trepidation about turning 40 next July. Yes, I think about it every now and then, but only to wonder what the hell happened to the last 39 years. It doesn’t seem like I’ve been alive that long, and the last 25 years have been one big blur.
So, now that I’m unemployed, you would think I’ve been relaxing a bit, trying to recharge my batteries.
Not even close.
I’ve been busier in the last three months than at any time in recent memory. Working to keep Red Carpet Crash stocked with new article and video content has been an all-consuming effort. Manda and I have seen more movies in the last eight weeks than we had in our previous 24 months. (Granted, the majority of ‘em were free, except for the second time I saw “Inglourious Basterds” and took Manda; or “G.I. Joe,” where the movie tried to kill me and wound up costing $1800. Lorenzo di Bonaventura’s about to get a bill from me.)
My point – and I swear to Buddha that I have one – is this. I do not feel like I’m pushing 40, nor do I feel like I’m even concerned with the prospect. Hell, there was a time when I was certain I wouldn’t live to see 30. Now, not only am I certain I’ll see the back side of “the hill,” but I have a reason to keep rolling on it. My best days physically may be behind me, but my best days as a human? Those are in front of me.
