Tired

Today was too long and I am too old and still not well enough to manage such a strenuous day. 

Keeping in mind that what I actually do is not difficult in the sense of what strenuous really means, but it is within the context of what I am able to do.  In fact, I was going from one errand to another and there was a two-woman road crew that was making small repairs to the road, and I remember thinking, as I was driving past them, that I really do not have much physical work in my life. 

I see and know about so many people who really do physically demanding work and I always feel a little of my inner slacker coming through when I see it or think about it.  I really do not work very hard.

When it comes to mental work, I am right up there with just about anyone you could name, but my best bet is that even those other mental-workers have some aspect of physical activity in their lives.  I know that even T, who spends most of his time in his wheelchair makes time each day to work out at the Y or at home.  Me, well, I do not do that.  Even when I am making art or sewing or messing up a batch of soap, or whatever the heck else that I do around here, it is not hard work in that sense. 

It occurs to me, fairly regularly, that I am not as physical as I should or could be.  I do not because it hurts.  It hurts in a way that pain support cannot help.  I make no apologies for that, but even a day like today simply exhausts me.  Today found me at the dentist, at work figuring out the logistics of how we are going to serve clients within the context of the remodel, visiting the gallery to prepare for the next exhibit, the post office, the bank, and the grocery store.  Once at home I did laundry (up and down a tall staircase), made chicken curry soup...oh, my, will it ever be ready to eat?...and I have to take a rest before I can shower and wash my hair.  This here, sitting at the computer with a fan blowing directly on me, is the rest.

Seriously, that that little effort could bring me down and make me sweat and ache all over is just ridiculous, insane, stupid and astounding.  Heck, even I can see that. 

I do not think that it makes me a bad person or anything, but I really and truly do not work very hard.  Well, maybe it does make me a bad person, but even that thought is not going to have any effect on what I do, you know.  Sad, but true.  Enough of this.

I have to share that giving myself the name of Simpleton is one of the most bestest things that I have ever done for myself.  I have been calling myself that for at least a year or so and I think it completely suits me.  Making it the title of this place was brilliant.  Every time I see it, and my eyes looking back at me, well, it just makes me tingle all over.  It is like a little hug each time I look at it.  Even better than having Jimmy Smits as my fantasy boyfriend, and that is saying some.

The soup cannot be ready yet, but I am going to put in the coconut milk and thicken it up a bit and have some because I am unable to resist that seductive aroma any longer.