My Day

I am on severe restriction--no projects, etc.--well into November according to my surgeon, who is a pretty cool guy. I found out that he plays in a rock back with some other doctors, and they actually play at some clubs in St. Pete and Tampa, which is remarkable because not too many places have live music these days, at least not around here.

Back in my day (a phrase I may start using more often), live music was everywhere. Sure, the clubs had DJs on intermission, but the bands were the real draw, whether you played in a high-energy dance band for the upscale pretty people or you appealed, as in my case, to the more tattooed, excitable segment of society. Yes, things were definitely better in my day.

Sometimes I wonder how young people today can even get out of bed in the morning with such a pitifully meager prospect of fun and adventure. All good intentions, moderation and restraint. How very sad. Not in my day.

Today is still my day, but now my idea of excitement is watching a movie and having some popcorn with Cheryl or playing with the dogs or writing or just doing nothing. Lately I am doing more nothing.

Because I can't lift anything or take a chance walking our puppy on his leash (since he may rip out my internal organs along with my arm from its socket), the dogs and I are all having fun in the backyard, where they can chase each other and play. Little did he know that his much older girlfriend Willow is a world-class Frisbee player who can jump and grab things from the air and run circles around him. Take that, youth!

(Note to self: This post may reflect some frustration with my recovery from surgery and not actual curmudgeonness.)