A few days ago, I was feeling sorry for myself.  I kept making typing errors because my hands were shaking of tremors. My bladder hadn’t slept well, so I got up one too many times. Bills were piling up and all I had to look forward to were co-pays for rehab, chiropractors, and cardiologists, who passed off my concerns to neurologists, urologists, and physical therapists. I think you get the “gist!” I had cramps in my leg, didn’t feel well, the room would spin, and the two dogs needed to go out again. I felt inactive, overweight, tired, and depressed. Even TV series, movies, and books were unappealing and too much effort. However, don’t worry, my wife talked me down from the ledge.

While I was in this funk, I came up with new labels for the days of the week that often all felt like “blah!” We already had “Salad Sundays,” Meatless Monday,” “Hump Day,” “Fry Day,” and “Trash Day,” to help keep track of slippery time as it all to quickly passes in retirement. It’s been seven years since I’ve worked and all of my bosses and most of my close co-workers are retired or dead.  Running every day is no longer part of my life. I would like to find something constructive to do with my time, but I’m still not sure what that would be, given my lack of references, limited transportation, and current health issues. Extensive travel has helped keep my mind occupied, but we’re running out of places to go. Plus, every time we end up at a fancy resort, it’s really not that much different than being at home, surrounded by the same amenities. 

I’m fortunate to have a loving family, great friends, cute pets, and warm-hearted neighbors. We have a beautiful home in a beach community, and only one car to worry about these days. Most of our driving is by golf cart. The yard work and landscaping are taken care of by the HOA, but I still have to change a light bulb on occasion. All I have to do is pay the bills, hoping that our Social Security checks and pension payments arrive on time.

Unlike the other men in our neighborhood, I’m not handy and don’t even wash my own car. They seem content with making home improvements, changing the oil, rotating the tires, and helping others do the same. They golf, play pickle ball, tennis, or bridge, while I don’t even enjoy watching. Sadly, my wife is convinced that I do such a poor job when it comes to housework, so I’m not asked to do it! The problem is that I have no active hobbies other than writing. Baseball card and coin collecting has become unrewarding and often too expensive on a fixed income. I seem to be more into getting rid of stuff than accumulating more, wishing my wife felt the same. 

I’m content but bored, trying to work my body back to normal, and restricted from most of the activities that I don’t do anyways. Monitoring my blood pressure is about as fun as it gets. As a result, I’ve come up with “Meaningless Mondays,” “Trite Tuesdays,” “Worthless Wednesday,” “Trivial Thursdays,” “Fruitless Fridays,” “Slothful Saturdays,” and “Sedate Sundays,” all making for another “Blah!” week. By the way, I’m only half-kidding so please don’t call 9-1-1.