Things Ain't Like They Used To Be

This little drawing reminds me of St Thomas where the chickens run free. It also reminds me of waking up in the morning, which is appropriate given today's little bloggy topic. 

When I was a youngish man, boy, whatever, I remember I didn't like getting up early. So many mornings, our hockey practice came at some ungodly time in the morning. I later found out it was because it was when the ice time was least expensive. 

We will do just about anything when we're young, and we bounce back. After that ungodly early ice-time, we'd pack our lunch and go to school for the whole day and come home for some other sports practice.  It was just the way it was. When you're young, you adapt. 

I can still manage to get up early if I have to. I often have early calls with folks on the other side of the planet to discuss exciting things like the relevance and findability of data or some equally fascinating topic. 

I know I've been changing a bit because, when we were in Dayton last week and Andy said, "Hey, let's play golf this weekend." My immediate response was, "Please, not too early." at which point he chimed in with, "are you f*$%ng kidding, I'm not getting up early on the weekend."

Well, I can still get up early if I need to, but I prefer not to. 

I want to put off the following morning routine as long as possible because mornings have become a tiresome, tedious ritual. There is just so much that goes into becoming conscious nowadays. 

When I opened my eyes this morning, I went through my usual routine. 

1. Acknowledge that, yes, I am still breathing and my heart is still ticking over as it should. 
2. Notice the stiffness and decrepitude that has entered my body through some demented Succubus who left traces of an arduous night. 
3. Doing my best imitation of Frankenstein, I rise to a seated position from my sarcophagus, hoping all the parts I once had are still there. 
4. Take inventory of said parts and attempt the final stages of reanimation with a deep breath and a form of levitation I can only describe as an arduous ascension from the dead.  
5. If successful, I can perform the necessary ablutions that help me resemble a human being. 

Still, as I get my land legs back from a night of blissful or not so blissful slumber, it has become harder and harder to shake off the brain fog that I would, in my younger years, normally associate with a hangover, even though I know I haven't been drinking. The brain fog, as it were, continues until I get a kick start from a cup of chemicals that I call coffee, but you can call it a legal psychoactive stimulant drug if you'd like. 

---

​I don't know what has happened to me. Has there been some breach in the space-time continuum? One day I was spry as a newborn then, it seems I just turned around, and my body has begun to inflict a torturous morning routine on me. 

I'll keep on keeping on. Should I ignore it? Should I go with it? Should I power through? I don't know. How do you handle the onslaught of decrepitude? I think I'll power through. 


I asked my dad once about all these aches and pains I started to get when I passed the half-century mark. I asked, do you ever get used to it? Does it ever go away? Does it ever get easier?

His answer was plain and unequivocal, "No."

Really, I'm grateful for all I've been able to hang on to. But I wish it were a bit easier and I hope the wheels don't start falling off any more quickly. 

​Things just ain't what they used to be.

Until next week, I wish you peace.