I'm not talking about our microwave that has finally been repaired after one month minus two days of non-waving, micro or otherwise. That was an easy fix. The impetus to this particular grumpy complainy rant is the slow erosion of the human machine, the one that has been hauling me around for several decades.
I'm feeling rather betrayed by this. Not that I was ever a Ferrari. More like a dump truck, really. But I always figured that chassis would continue to house my being for eternity, reliably and without complaint.
I'm starting to realize that isn't so.
I won't bore you with a litany of complaints (although I am tempted), but I will tell you that the aches and pains that began several months ago just keep spiraling into an ever-expanding circle of creakiness. The thigh bone, it would seem, really is connected to the knee bone.
When you can't move normally, you can't move normally, and fitness levels begin to plummet, making it harder to move normally.
I was complaining to the Spousal Unit this morning, as I hobbled down the stairs, that I wished I could just bisect myself at the waist and throw away the bottom half. He laughed and said he wished he could do that with his top half. Maybe we could just ditch the broken parts and fuse together a brilliant new machine with the bits that still work.
Dr. Frankenstein, do you make house calls?
How do you deal with your corporeal complaints?