Common Cold Common Sense

I want to blame an awful lot on the fact that I’ve had a pretty ordinary cold for the past week. My lack of ambition. My failure, on several occasions, to do even a half-assed job of making sure my wife had dinner ready when she got home from work. Some lack of conversation with my son. I could throw in a hurricane and Supreme Court confirmation if I sneeze more than four times in a row. I get theatrical.

It’s the inactive part that bothers me. I get a little paranoid about my joints freezing up or my toes falling off, something bizarre, when I know from experience that taking a break doesn’t do that much damage. At least it didn’t when I was in my 50s. Whole new ballgame, I’m thinking, so I get nervous with all this sedentary stuff.

I took one walk a week ago, about 2-1/2 miles, and paid for it with significant exhaustion. Yesterday I went into the backyard and tried to do some more digging (the soil is so soft now, I’m really just at the leveling off stage, digging up only a few stray roots), and lasted about 10 minutes. It didn’t feel stupid as much as obvious, and I’ll give myself credit for good intentions. I really hate just sitting on my butt, because it’s kind of the default for me and I’m constantly fighting it.

But I know, stupid. Get better first. And I probably am, although this early-morning coughing crap bothers me. It’s drainage, I know this, it’s not hard to be aware of the reason I’m coughing. I say this because a friend has been recently dealing with the discovery of a mass on his chest x-ray. It’s sobering, and it’s not like I’m at a low risk, so to be clear—coughing is a snot-related event only.

So I missed a meeting Monday night, and stayed home from choir practice last night, and I’m getting better. Story should be over soon.

And let’s be upbeat, shall we? I’ve had this discussion lately with several people—we can be aware of the world and still try to be a little sunny, right? There are good things. Grandsons and cookies, for example.

Some good news is that, contrary to what seems obvious, my appetite is fine. My weight is still ticking down a tiny bit each week, but the past week it started ticking up because, duh, less activity. I’m beginning to break out of this irritation/worry thing when it comes to this. I think it is what it is now. There’s a very smart and funny writer out there I follow, in her early 50s, and she comments occasionally on her disinterest in food, and how weird that is. She dreams of a pill she can swallow and be done with it, and I dunno, man. I think I may be the same way.

But I eat, and I do fine. The last time I had a bad day in terms of eating was my birthday, in fact, when I had that stomach virus thing. I eat plenty. I move plenty. I’d like to gain 10 pounds, maybe, but I don’t see that happening anymore. I think I’ll just be this way, and that’ll have to do.

This will have to do, too. Just wanted to put something on the old blog. Got some ideas about this but, again. Let me stop coughing first.