Random stacks of paragraphs about being bloated, de-carbonated and probioticated

Ugh. Doc says avoid carbonation. Try probiotic. Been bloated, water retention.

Grr. Favorite thing: Pop. Drink too much? Of course. Still. I want. Had one today. Rest was iced tea.

Yeah. Yeah. I know. Drink water. I do. I drink a gallon of it when I go to the gym. An actual gallon. And I’m bloated. So thanks, body.

I don’t know what probiotics are. They were explained to me. I read about them. All I really understand is I’m putting a billion live cultures in my stomach. Chewable tablet tastes like fake grape.

You know fake grape. It’s what grape flavor is called. No grape tastes like grape flavor. I think it was comedian Dave Chapelle called the flavor “purple.”

Mistake. Put probiotic chewable in my pill case. Made other pills taste like grape. Kind of nice, I guess.

Watched Monday Night Football. Giants at Eagles. Mercy, the NFC East is crap.

Giants dug up Eli Manning’s bones. Trotted his cadaver our to take snaps. Looked great in a world where great is a synonym for mediocre. Two touchdowns.

Eagles came back. Win in OT. My buddy Andrew roots for Eagles. I’m happy for him. His team has a chance to be the best of the worst teams in football.

NFC East is the worst kind of bad: mediocre enough to win six games, but not bad enough to get a good draft pick or save your coach’s job.

I refuse to talk about the weather today. It’s cliche and dull. Winter happens about this time every year. Cope. Or move to California, which has great weather and no other problems whatsoever.

I will admit this: Ice scares me more this year. Not driving. Walking. I fell on ice I. January and it took more than six months to recover. I’m still working around the back pain at the gym.

That’s the thing about this year, my 44th. I have felt my age a lot. All the damage I’ve done treating my body like a beater car on gravel backroads in Madison County is catching up with me.

I fear the scooter. I fear the heart attack. I don’t fear death. I fear death in pieces.

It’s too late to turn it all the way around, I think. I’m too far gone. What I’m fighting for now is fewer days in agony. A little more mobility. Don’t die before my parents. They suffered enough headaches with their secondhand son.

Bleak? Sure. But that’s how I feel. Optimism is not an easy trick for me.

I’m doing better. Nate says so. More mobility. Greater variety of movements. I know. But I see my reflection and cringe. What a monster I’ve made of myself.

Maybe I made myself look like I feel inside.

Or I got old and fat. Both plausible.

End on a positive note. Hmm. What can I say?

I live a good life. I have people who love me despite myself, friends of whom I am unworthy and all the tea a man could want to drink.

With love and hope, dpf

Published by Daniel P. Finney

Daniel P. Finney is a professional paragraph stacker who grew up in Winterset and Des Moines, Iowa. The local newspaper paid him $25 for his first story when he was 17. He has typed for cash ever since. He is a flawed human trying to be a little less Incredible Hulk and a little more Mr. Rogers.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create your website at WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: