Getting old

"Crutches get old quickly," the kindly podiatrist warned me. By my estimate, "quickly" in my case is about two blocks. To get an idea what I'm in for tomorrow, I rode them to the corner and back on a pharmacy run. As I figured, it took me almost exactly twice what it normally does (i.e. ca. 16 mins. instead of 8 each way). To put the most positive spin possible on that, my leisurely twice-daily stroll has turned into a vigorous cardio routine. I'm also looking forward to having upper arms I can be proud of again.

Everything else is a case of things not sucking as much as they could. With any luck, I'll be off the crutches before the streets get icy. And given the sweat I'm breaking in a short distance, it's a mercy to be doing this in 70° heat rather than 90°. My hosting duties for the forseeable are minimal: I can still mix drinks for monshu's guests this weekend, I just can't serve them. I may not be able to help Tupper buy alcohol for his party next month, but I can still direct guests and stow coats. I have a while before opera season starts, let alone the holidays. All in all, it was excellent timing.

I've known for a while that I've been living life at a pace that would be hard to sustain, but I figured the end would come in the form of a fall flu or a seasonal head cold. My body is telling me--literally--to slow down and pay more attention, and I intend to heed it. No more distracted walking for a while. The morning ritual will become even more leisurely, the chores will require more focus and less haste. It's not just my bones that need to reknit.