Thursday, April 14, 2011

I lie. Like a fucking rug - on my damned back

No running for me, not for a while now.  I pulled something or twisted something or some such frustrating crap.  Getting old isn't for sissies or pussies or anyfuckingbody.   Where is the dignity in aging if I can't even trot around a footpath for couple of miles without my body choosing to attack me like a mugger hiding in the bushes?

So now I must walk at a staid (age appropriate?) pace.  Oh.  Hell. No. I will keep at this if it kills me, if I have to replace knees and hips and whatever else craps out on me.

Do no go gentle into that good night.  Rage, rage against the dying of the running...