I am not a wealthy man. At least not in the conventional sense. And unless NVIDIA or Apple has a 1000/1 stock split, I will never be a moneybags type of guy.
Not complaining however, because as I have mentioned before, I have enough. That is enough to keep me out of a dirty nursing home. And should that fate befall me, I'm planning on selling a kidney just so I won't have to eat dirty nursing home vegetable lasagna. I've had it twice at the assisted living places my uncle occupied. Not good.
The nursing home directors should know vegetable lasagna is not putting their best foot forward to attract new customers. But they don't.
However, as noted above, I am wealthy in the unconventional sense, in that I am and have always been extremely healthy. Even in my pudgier...no, chubbier...no, stockier days. Despite having two outpatient surgeries in the last 3 years (left hip replacement and a hernia repair) I have never spent a night in a hospital bed.
Never.
When half the world was getting Covid (the Democratic Hoax) I was not. I don't get colds. Or the flu. Or headaches. Or even hangovers. I probably shouldn't be saying this all out loud, but it's true. And I certainly appreciate the mighty good fortune.
With my dramatic weight loss and 4-a-day workouts, I feel even stronger. I should use the past tense here. Last week while emerging from my backyard hot tub, I fell. Falling is never good when you're in your 60's. And even less good when you no longer sport a layer of me-fall-down-ass-padding.
To make matters worse, I was not wearing my Apple iWatch, which dutifully monitors my stand uppiness and offers to send assistance whenever it detects a victory by Earth's gravitational forces...
"Have you fallen down? Would you like us to send assistance?"
Indeed I had fallen down and as the commercial says, "I could not get up."
I laid down on the cold Trek deck, in a pool of condensed hot tub water and could not move for 15 minutes. My brain was sending signals to my arms and legs, but they were replying, "Not yet, we're busy soaking in the texture of the deck and enjoying the scent of Night Blooming Jasmine."
At some point I was literally laughing at my predicament. "Stupid klutz," I said to myself, "this is a fine mess you've got us into."
Clearly I extracted myself from the situation.
Yesterday, having toughed out a week achey nights and long days of heating pads and ice packs, I decided to see my doctor, who like Ms. Muse, could not understand why I waited this long to see if I had broken a rib or my tailbone.
I had not. But I was hoping he'd bring me in his office and slip me some morphine-grade painkillers to take the dull edge off. Apparently doctors don't do that anymore.
There is a silver lining to all this and I'm told this is a phenomena known to all older...no, aging...no, late mid-life people. When one pain comes on, the other pains dissipate. Since this happened, I haven't felt any wincing creakiness in my right hip.
Ah, life's silver linings.
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