Talking to Me

January 20, 2017

In the spirit of self-confession, I’ve been noticing some distinctive yet disconcerting signs of age recently.

Oh there are the normal things, like feeling new aches and pains, noticing the ever increasing length of hair growing from my body orifices, or dozing off every time I sit in a comfortable chair.  But, what I’m doing now is kind of a step down the ladder, to a lower level of intelligence, and I’m not very pleased with myself.

What’s happening is that I’m not just complaining about parts of my body, but actually talking to them as though they were anthropomorphic beings.  So far I don’t think anyone else has noticed, but when and if they do, I’m sure I’ll be asked to talk to a psychiatrist—immediately.


Now what is wrong2-web

I’m quite often in communication with my feet.  They seem to be settling out in all sorts of directions, and wearing footwear that was comfortable a year or two ago now feels like I’ve wedged my feet into shoes meant for someone much smaller than me.

“What are you doing down there?  I spent $300 on these hiking boots three years ago and you were very happy with them.  I’ve just put in $400 orthotics and you still give me pain after an hour of walking.  Well, I’m not spending another penny to make you happy, so put up with it.  Oh, you can have a bandaid now and then, I guess, but that’s it.”


Then there is the excess hair growing from various orifices in my old bod.  I really don’t understand why this happens.

“Listen, what possible affliction is coming that will require me to have a mass of hair growing out of my nose and ears.  What’s going on here?  You know I’m just going to keep yanking you out so why don’t you just stop?”


Arthritis is for others, at least I aways hoped so.  Now it is slowly working its way through my old body starting with my hands.  I comment regularly to the growing nodules on my finger joints.

“Where did you come from?  You belong on someone else, someone older, someone who hasn’t kept very fit during their lives.”  A jab of pain as I pick up a heavy box responds as if to say, “You’re either on the list or you’re not Jacky boy.  I’ll be with you for a long time.”


My gas-tight, water-tight valve isn’t these days.  Urges arrive completely unannounced.

“Why now?  Why here?  Good grief, what are you doing to me.  This is soooo embarrassing.  I have to run off from the group and find a toilet.  Can’t you plan anything anymore?”


Back pains can be debilitating.  I have my version and it is not fun when I don’t look after my back properly.  Sleeping on beds that are too hard is not a good thing to do.  I know right away when I wake up in the morning in a motel when travelling.

"Oh no.  I’m sorry.  I fell asleep again without putting a pillow under my knees.  Please don’t be bad.  Oh brother that hurts.  Look, today, be gentle with me and I’ll be gentle with you.  Ouch!  Now that’s not fair."


I was told I would be up more in the evening as I got older, but this is ridiculous.  I look over to see the clock as I stir and am aware that now, at 4:45am, my bladder is telling me that I need to go to the bathroom.

“Good grief!  Not again.  Why can’t you let me sleep for more than three hours at a time.  Just relax, for goodness sake.

Now, what was it I was worried about?  Oh yah, that thing.  If you’d just let me sleep I wouldn't be up thinking about stuff I can do nothing about.  Especially at this time of night.”


And so it goes.  Private conversations, spoken out loud.  This could be embarrassing.  Nothing changes, but it seems to make me feel better.