I’m sore. I’m sore that my year-old eyeglasses frames broke yesterday. I’m sore that I didn’t get them repaired. I’m sore that I didn’t get them replaced. I’m sore that a replacement will be an expensive proposition. And I’m sore that there’s so much to do and only twenty-four hours in each day to get them all done.
My lower back is sore. My wrists are sore. My arms are sore. And my upper legs are sore. To borrow from Leonard Cohen (and adapt under the auspices of poetic license), I’m sore in places I used to play. Being in the throes of age-accentuated soreness is painfully irritating.
Despite being miffed at myriad obstacles to my bliss, I’m not a sore loser. Because I did not lose the weight I felt I should have lost after putting my body through the workout involved in shoveling a vast amounts of mulch into, and then out of, the bed of a pickup. Yes, I’m sore, but I’m not a loser. At least not in the sense…nevermind.
Today will offer up plenty more opportunities for soreness. I will pick up the paint brush again (oh, I didn’t mention my wrists are sore from painting yesterday) to add more pizzazz to my abode and environs. I will continue the saga of mulch moving, transferring the mulch from beneath the tarp where it resides at this moment to the beds where it will help control weeds and add a means of retaining moisture for the newly-planted shrubs.