Monday, 8 May 2017

A plea to my body to do something fun.

Today my left elbow started to send shooting pains up toward my wrist, followed shortly afterward by numbness and tingling. I shook it back to life, got back to work, then half an hour later it did the same thing again.

This got me to thinking, partly because I've got a word count to reach today, so obviously I follow up any possible excuse for procrastination, but also because it seems there was a tipping point back in my early thirties when my body turned on me.

I'm not saying that up until that point, everything was plain sailing. There were headaches, hangovers, shortsightedness, along with a myriad of colds.

But they were insults to my general health that were short-lived. Wait a few days or a week and I'd be back to normal (well, apart from my eyesight). Nowadays, every time I get even the smallest twinge, it's an indicator of chronic pain.

There's nothing overtly bad or wrong, and I'm well aware there are screeds of people with horrible things going on who would be envious of my situation, but all these little aches and pains do wear away at my ease of living. And, when all's said and done, that's my prime objective in life. Ease. Comfort. Maybe a brilliantly angry outburst followed by a peaceful spell of happiness. A nice ray of sunshine that I can bask in for a minute before I close the curtain because it's shining right on my computer screen.

My body, which used to do all sorts of marvelous things, has become an impediment rather than an asset. I don't intend to relinquish it any time soon, trust me on that, but wouldn't it be nice to wake up one morning and actually have something feel better?

I seem to recall a time in Intermediate School where my body spent an entire year growing breasts.


So, I don't think it's too much to ask. Body, would you please do something fun again, like that?

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