Yesterday I won a Hinge award, then went out and earned a "soreness from a good day's work" award.
|Airfield perimeter fence, Peleliu, circa September, 1944|
I've written the following sentence like 30 times and I can't get it right.
As it turns out, I don't have the skills to explain how good it feels to be back up and in battery.
|Myrtle and Rudolphia|
I don't know what that illness was. I suspect it was a pathogen of some sort, most likely viral but possibly bacterial.
|Cool, clear, clean water|
Doesn't matter really as I'm feeling better and have perhaps returned to normal. Physically anyway.
|In regal repose|
Couple of things I feared.
|Dude! What are you doing?|
I feared it was the onset of death. Some kind of age-induced/related physiological malady that would punch my ticket. Pick a death card, any death card.
I didn't really believe that. I was only miserable, and it seemed to last a long time, but it never got worse than miserable. Presumably a croaking-thingy would get progressively worse.
|Robin Redbreast assessing worm distribution|
More than death I feared that it was the onset of the kind of oldenness that would put me in the recliner to live out my days unable to do anything useful or normal or fun.
|Who can identify this bird?|
I guess at a certain point in life you're bound to have such thoughts when you're not feeling well.
|I should be able to, being an expert on everything and everything, but I can't. Must be an ageing thing.|
Dodged the bullet this time. Here's hoping I've got an adequate supply of agility remaining. Since my personal desire is to live forever, I probably don't have the quantity of bullet dodging agility I'd like to have. That's life.
|Durned attractive little flying dinosaur.|
Well, time to worry about that shit later. I gots work to do.