A rain of a different flavor
The weekend was rainy. And cool. I managed to get outside for a walk on Saturday between showers. But Sunday finds me curled up on the couch — TV remote in hand. Without even the energy it takes to read.
I recline, cocooned in layers, debating whether or not to light the fireplace. My tea ceases to have any effect at all on the internal chill.
The dampness creeps into my bones and old aches remind me of all of the decades we have lived. My body and I. Arthritis in my throttle hand led me to sell my motorcycle and now keeps me from finishing my granddaughters’ afghan.
My back and neck are stiff with the effort of 40+ hours every week at a desk or on a phone. There are no ergonomic occupational health advisors to bring me a better chair or to install a drop-down keyboard for me.
My body sleeps sooner and longer these days. Keeping time with the sun. Waking up at 0700 each day becomes harder as nighttime refuses to give way to dawn.
I have begun to wear a jacket on my daily walks.
The seasons churn on — without asking permission. Life churns on — without asking permission.
I curl up on my couch, pull a blanket around me, and wait.