puttin on the agony
I am trying to eat a little healthier. Trying to avoid the take-aways. But last night I indulged in fish and chips. And almost immediately a huge spot formed on my shoulder. So before I went to bed I gave it a squeeze. After a volcanic explosion that made Pompeii look like a medium small firecracker I was left with a bloody crater. So, to protect my sheets I decide to put a plaster on it.
Did you see that. 'To protect my sheets'. That’s age. Its not the belly, or the grey in the beard. Its when you worry about your sheets. So sad.
Anyway. I attempt to remove a plaster from its packaging. And it sticks to itself. Much swearing. On the second attempt I succeed & stick the plaster over the weeping hole in my shoulder. The third attempt is also successful. Ha, I have mastered the plasters. The thing is, I didn’t need a third attempt. Now this may be senility, or this may be beer. Which ever, I now have a spare plaster ready to go. It would be a shame to waste it so, of course, I stick it across the bridge of my nose. As you do.
I wake in the night. I am of an age where I can no longer drink several pints and go an entire night without a pee. On good nights I wake up. Note to self: If you dream your peeing, your peeing. So, half asleep I go to the toilet. And in the mirror I see I have a plaster across my nose. Have I been fighting? It seems unlikely. I fight like a damp blanket so any violence normally ends up with me getting a good kicking and spending an evening in the A&E. I am older and wiser. I haven’t been in a punch up for many years. Hmm. Perhaps I fell over. Seems more likely. And thinking about it, my shoulder and my knee also hurt. Ok, so whenever I think about it my shoulder and knee hurt. I’m old and knackered.
So I lie half awake, trying to remember. I was in the pub with the lads. No Hobson’s (AGAIN!!!) so I was grumpy. But not unusually so. And not very drunk. I left. I got fish and chips (two pickled onions, small beans £4.50. mmmm). Walked up the hill. I’m fairly sure without incident. Ate. Showered. Went to bed. No nose damage incident. From three till five I lie in bed fingering the plaster on my nose wondering what I have done. Worrying. Unable to sleep.
Of course, with the morning comes sanity. And relief. Followed by general grouchy-ness caused by lack of sleep & resentment at my own stupidity.
Did you see that. 'To protect my sheets'. That’s age. Its not the belly, or the grey in the beard. Its when you worry about your sheets. So sad.
Anyway. I attempt to remove a plaster from its packaging. And it sticks to itself. Much swearing. On the second attempt I succeed & stick the plaster over the weeping hole in my shoulder. The third attempt is also successful. Ha, I have mastered the plasters. The thing is, I didn’t need a third attempt. Now this may be senility, or this may be beer. Which ever, I now have a spare plaster ready to go. It would be a shame to waste it so, of course, I stick it across the bridge of my nose. As you do.
I wake in the night. I am of an age where I can no longer drink several pints and go an entire night without a pee. On good nights I wake up. Note to self: If you dream your peeing, your peeing. So, half asleep I go to the toilet. And in the mirror I see I have a plaster across my nose. Have I been fighting? It seems unlikely. I fight like a damp blanket so any violence normally ends up with me getting a good kicking and spending an evening in the A&E. I am older and wiser. I haven’t been in a punch up for many years. Hmm. Perhaps I fell over. Seems more likely. And thinking about it, my shoulder and my knee also hurt. Ok, so whenever I think about it my shoulder and knee hurt. I’m old and knackered.
So I lie half awake, trying to remember. I was in the pub with the lads. No Hobson’s (AGAIN!!!) so I was grumpy. But not unusually so. And not very drunk. I left. I got fish and chips (two pickled onions, small beans £4.50. mmmm). Walked up the hill. I’m fairly sure without incident. Ate. Showered. Went to bed. No nose damage incident. From three till five I lie in bed fingering the plaster on my nose wondering what I have done. Worrying. Unable to sleep.
Of course, with the morning comes sanity. And relief. Followed by general grouchy-ness caused by lack of sleep & resentment at my own stupidity.
posted by Old Man Rich at 10:41 AM
5 Comments:
and the moral of the story is -
if you go out and get plastered you'll regret it the next day. boom boom.
....I worry about you, rather more now than i used too.
I wrote That.
aww..
thats pretty digusting about the squishing a zit thing..
you ever stand beside someone with those HUGE blackheads..and they're oblivious to them..I just want to reach over and squeeze..
and I'm sickened that I want to reach over and squeeze
Lol, I came home from the bars one night and decided that my dresser was messy and needed rearranging. So, still in my party clothes, I'm sorting my socks from my underwear and my t-shirts, it takes me about an hour I imagine. For some reason, I grouped them in order of color. I collapse in bed, wake up the next day and of course, remember nothing. The boy at the time and I shared a dresser, he reaches for his things and finds my white bras with his white socks. Of course, it all comes back to me and I was like, "Well, they match, don't they?"
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