Is It Just Me?

For those of you that have known me for a while you know that I generally think of myself, as Tom Barnicle pegged us, an eighth grader with credit cards. Recently I celebrated another year of walking around and I realized that while I don't feel old I certainly am acting like an old man more and more.

Now, I've been crabby and cantankerous for more than a few years so that isn't the issue. I still hate everything and everyone for the most part and I find most of my days filled with annoying people and stuff going on around me. I call it Saturday.

In an effort to prolong my time here I have made the decision to stop doing anything that even sniffs of exercise and I now limit my sugar intake to fruit, candy, pie, cake, and donuts. You know, I'm trying to be responsible.

What I am noticing, and it has me slightly worried, is that I keep dropping shit like my hands have stopped working. As a past professional baseball player once told me, you never lose the hands. Well, apparently he was another in a long line of adults that lied to me. My hands are like two pools of vegetable oil trying to hold water.

There doesn't seem to be a time or place for this to happen as it comes and goes randomly. I'll drop my keys walking into the grocery store, or drop a carrot I just peeled for dinner on the floor, or forty other things throughout the week. And it's not like I just drop them. I can feel them falling and I start to do the juggler act as I try to catch what is inevitably going to hit the ground, with no luck, sending it flying ten feet further away from me then if I just let it fall.

I bend down to pick it up and my lower back screams out in agony as the muscle there has atrophied from sitting on my growing ass all day long doing nothing but watching TV, or reading a book, or being a keyboard warrior on the internet. I then spend the next thirteen steps trying to straighten back up completely looking like the old man I have become.

I'm closer to the right than I am to the left in the picture above but I haven't succumbed to using a cane or a walker. Yet, but I know where I can get one on a moments notice.

I've accepted the fact that I can't remember what I did three minutes ago or why I came into the laundry room. I chalk that up to having to remember too much crap when I was working and my brain said enough. Frankly, I'm glad I can't remember most of the shit from the past. The slowing down physically, the loss of golf skills, the eyesight slowly eroding, and the other little things associated with getting older I'm OK with.

But the dropping stuff for no reason just makes me nuts. I've been told it because I don't sleep enough. I know that can't be it because I get six to seven hours a night and then another one and half to three every afternoon. I'm sleeping more now than when I was a baby.

I get checked twice a year with full blood work, stress tests, and various other heart related imaging and the doctors keep telling me I'm doing great. So it isn't MS or some other dangerous disease that has been suggested to me also.

Maybe I'll just Velcro everything I use so that it never falls anymore.