The Old Necked Rebellion

This old-age business is more troublesome than a rash on a summer day. Yesterday, I made a startling discovery: I need not lift a finger to upset the balance of my body’s delicate sensibilities.

No, all it takes now is the audacity to exist.

As per the usual routine, I did my best impersonation of a human being, slowly rising from the comforting embrace of a good night’s sleep. My feet, still loyal to the cause, touched the carpet with all the grace of a tired elephant.

I then turned my head—an action as innocent as a kitten’s yawn.

And yet, no sooner had I dared a glance at the alarm clock than I became acquainted with a pain so sharp on the right side of my neck that I’d swear like a rusty hinge that finally had enough. Now, in my youth, I had to twist and turn, contort my neck like a circus performer to earn such exquisite agony.

But today—it seems my body has given up any pretense of civility. I need only open my eyes to enter the kingdom of discomfort, and that blessed torment stays with me into this moment.

Lord knows I didn’t sign up for this when I signed on for the years. If I had, I’d have demanded a refund before I jumped from that speeding train.