I don’t dream much. Kind of annoys me if when I do they almost make sense. I much prefer nonsense dreams, drug dreams, demerol dreams of flying motorcycles such as I had after my accident.
I lay in bed a long time this morning listening to her snore. She has a sweet snore. I imagine all women do but I’ve never heard but hers. I lay in bed a long time because my body hurt and it was tired. I went into paintball battles yesterday expecting to be pretty much the person in best shape, because I am in reasonable shape, and I care about staying in shape more than I do about my job, which is a contrast with everyone else in my workgroup. Well, I wouldn’t say I care about it more. I’d say I find it a lot easier to focus on working out than on doing my job. Of course it’s easier. It’s simple and only takes an hour. My job on the other hand is an always shifting mélange of priorities and continual multitasking locked in a death battle with my innate laziness and tendency to wander. Point is, I run and lift and think I’m all that so it was a glorious moment when in only the second match out of about sixteen I dashed athletically ahead to take a forward firing position and threw out my portside hamstring. Gaw DAMN it hurt.
I tried and failed not to whine about it. I wasn’t too badly hobbled anyway. Much of the running around was more a matter of crouching from one obstacle to the next, and having a game leg didn’t matter much. I couldn’t roll around and switch sides as fast as I wanted to. I couldn’t actually run. But even with that I grew impatient with my teammates’ lack of aggression and more often than not got tagged out as a consequence of trying to get further ahead into the course. Those that hung back and plinked away may have lasted longer, but I will not fill their drinking horns in Valhalla.
The war also taxed other less-used parts of my body and I lay in glorious ache until she woke up and said, “What? It’s ten?” She slept in because she remained drinking at the neighbor’s when I came home to bed and lost I have no idea how much sleep. The thing now though was that it was ten and that was when the parade started. We didn’t want to miss the parade.
We jammed on down there and didn’t miss much. Missed the high school JROTC and a few classic cars, maybe a marching band or two. Still and all I took ninety five pictures.
5 comments:
I hate being reminded that I'm old. OTOH, I love when people do outrageous things like tell me I look young enough for prom, like this woman did yesterday when I was looking for something in my daughter's prom-painted car. Yay for the near-sighted!! :)
Stretching works real well, Old Boy. Nothing like it really.
Nobody our age can just up and run like hell without paying for it. Nobody your son's age can get away with that.
You ain't all that. I ain't all that. Only Jack La Lanne is all that. Well, maybe Laird Hamilton too, but I be they both stretch a lot.
LOVE this post, Don.
I'm cheering for that cherry-red Camaro, too.
i pulled a hamstring the one and only time i ever tried to water ski. the boat lurched just as i was almost up on the skis and jolted me forward. i heard a pop and i swear i thought my leg was broken... but i managed to swim to the boat and realize it was just the ham.. just. amazed that you were able to continue the game, must have been sheer will and determination. same thing that gets you to the gym everyday :).
cool parade pics, like the pony with the ribbons.
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