Easy and Tough Mornings

I do wake up some mornings like a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed squirrel ready to climb trees and chase my good buddy in spirals up and down some tree; this is not one of those mornings. Maybe aging is in part measurable by the % of one type of day over the other.................... I'm 50-50 and heading slowly South and not necessarily to the Riviera  ....................
................................. Strike one up for the sour days ..................................................................
I began to lose my energy at about 430, yesterday afternoon .... failed to maintain the belief that I could continue, that evening, to "Play" in Life's Fourth Quarter. The second youngster/killer of the Boston Marathon was still on the loose. My grandchildren, those who live in that area, were home from school. My Brother was not working, as he lived in the shutdown/lockdown area. I was so sad for the people who lost to death or injury and even tearful for the "Lost Boys." One of my afternoon visitors to my office was struggling to develop a hair of gratitude to himself for the positive changes he had enacted in his life, at great cost and effort, I might add, and was assuredly not happy with me. ...... I was,with M, on aGrandma/Granpa Gig, cooking between visitors for my 9 year old twin grand-daughters ... tag team mischiefers, that they are. I had cooked before my first visitor in the early AM but failed to allocate time for a nap. I have become like a toddler: I need my nap. Maybe 40 minutes sometime between Noon and three.  I felt tightly wound .... no patience for the dogs, either. The  kids' dog, Lovee, a big black teenage Lab I've been trying to teach to howl seemed more like a nuisance to have about. ........................................................ Life is not a bowl of cherries and Fri 19 April was feeling like the pits. ...................................... This AM, I couldn't sleep. Lovee and GuntherDog were busy scratching Winter's dry skin and resettling. M has a torn bicep and is in pain throughout the night. My cooking left me with the results of a faulty gastro-esophogeal sphinctor, the shut off valve that keeps acids and other corrosive stuff out of the esophagus so they don't burn the esophagus or go down the bronchia to the lungs. Bad taste ... pain. Sour-Sour-Sour. I had sour dreams about my kids .... odd for me. And, indeed, my GE-Sphinctor began to lose itts tone, like bellies and breasts do .... GE Sphinctors lose that squirrel spunk! ....................... Throw in .... the back. Old backs don't want to be straight anymore and add that to nerves that transmit less data from back, through legs, to toes ... and you have a recipe for numb toes that no longer work in concert with the touch mechanism of the foot, at large, that leads to difficulty maintaing balance. So no primary dizziness, but, still, an inability to achieve balance. And then there was this woman who claimed I had been in arguments with two other old men. Hell, no. They hurled epithets and I reported quietly that I didn't think we liked each other. Geez! Is that an argument? ................................... My Heart Rate is OK .... a little high for me at 43 but steady as a rock. It's 451 AM .... I have responded to Email correspondence and four offline comments wondering if my last posting was about my own sex life .... ..... This all reminds me of the Lee Hayes lyrics (don't know who wrote it but he sang it 50+ years ago): Each morning I wake up and dust off my wits/roll outa bed and read the obits/ If my name's not there, I know I'm not dead/So I eat a good breakfast and go back to be. ..................... Actually, I don't read the obits. Guess, I don't wanna know.