I'm 47. I'm sat here with the sound of Air in the background; the sun is shining and I have an abundance of new T-shirts and jeans. The fact that I'm not even a shadow of the man I was three years ago bothers me, but I've grown a little bit zen in my older age. Shit happens and sometimes there's absolutely no reason for it. You can stand in an open field, shaking your fist at the sky and asking for something to give you an answer as to why its you, but unless you're a really freaky born again Christian, the most you're going to get is guano on your jacket!
I've had a bit of a crap fortnight. I hurt my back attempting to be more healthy - I slipped down a pothole and jarred an already fragile set of bones and the subsequent injury buggered up the remaining parts of my torso because of the propensity to carry oneself in a different way to compensate for the pain. I ended up using muscles that I either didn't know still existed or ones that are normally used for other things and as a result I feel as though I've been dropped out of an aeroplane - every morning! Then I caught the wife's cough - she decides to have her first cough since I've known her and my immune system couldn't help but come out in sympathy. When your back is fucked, the last thing you really need is having a raking cough - it just exacerbates an already shitty situation. Work, which I really felt I started to get a handle on, has been fogged by the fact that my mind is preoccupied and at times a foetal position seems like a good alternative.
Yet... my mate Jodi died last weekend. She lost a short battle with cancer. She was 43. I mentioned her in an earlier blog.
I've had a really shitty fortnight, not just the stuff I mentioned, but other shit that, things that would have nothing but a negative effect on a fragile state. But none of it seems that important now.
I'm 47. That's 4 more years than my friend got.