The case could be made that, through and with time, our bodies ability to withstand beatings and batterings subsides.
With age comes the inevitability of weakness.
This is something a more the younger me would say.
And, as I normally was, I would (have) been correct.
About the other older people.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
They say this amidst your suffering, possibly in the spirit of true cheerleadership but most likely either because they have nothing left to offer or they really wish you’d stop your pointless fucking crying.
What they don’t say;
Then it (whatever it is that tried and failed to kill you previously) claws its way the fuck back, this time bigger and stronger with the (renewed) express purpose of trying to kill you dead all over again.
A veritable arms and legs race of escalating adversity versus adaptive determination that will inevitably produce the hows, whys and whens of your eventual (and ultimate) demise.
Not really. Unless of course you’re resigned to death by unemployment or divorce or a bad cup of coffee.
I called it Preparedistic.
The understanding of and preparation for (against) the onset of inevitably shitty things.
One particular case in point: Allergies.
I took a moment to document the process as it was and is.
You should be please appreciating that I utilized a Hiptasmic-like filter on my Sharpie.
Note: This ACTUALLY reads PeteyWeattie and NOT PeteyMeattie…it wasn’t like that.
This leads to the OCUP Series.
It hurts to be awake.
It hurts to breathe.
Exertion of this sort, in this condition, leads to an expulsion of bodily fluids and a swelling of extremities that cannot be maintained by just any mere mortal.
Well played Mr Death.
Go on then.
Hide behind the greenish facade of flora and fauna, but be thee warned, I’m not ready to be defeated by the petiole of your toxic salad.
See you Sunday.
Through eyes swollen shut.