Once again, I’d planned to do something on The Bisti Business this week but ended up letting life get in the way of my plans. That seems to happen more and more often of late. In the first place, my new computer continues to act up. The screen occasionally burps … meaning that it will suddenly jump up a couple of inches and then fall right back where it was. That should technically qualify as a burp, right? Or perhaps a hiccup. It doesn’t do any damage or cause me to lose material, but as I get older (which is happening at an increasingly rapid pace), I become more paranoid. So I tend to view this as something analogous to a volcano. These little “interruptions” are likely precursors to a building “eruption.” So I’ll be taking the machine to the fellows who helped me obtain it in the first place to see if my fears are well founded.
However, that is not exactly what sent me off the track this week. It was something much more personal. I tend to wear plaid, Wal-Mart trousers around that house that my friend E calls “pajama bottoms.” They aren’t (and I won’t shock her by showing her the actual garment), but I like them because they are comfortable and easy to slip into. Even so, I’ve allowed her interpretation of the trousers to intimidate me to the point where I only wear them in private.
This morning, after rising earlier than usual and cleaning up, I donned a pair of these casual pants and went about my usual routine. I noticed that something wasn’t quite right, but didn’t actually realize what it was until I tried to slip my cell phone into a pocket. I had the blessed things on backward. Now think about that for a moment, folks. I walked around for half an hour with my pants turned bass-ackward without knowing it. That bears repeating: Without knowing it. This should tell you more than you want to know about the state of my aging and shifting physique. I’m not even sure you can call it a physique any longer.
Now I have friends who will say, “Aha, a wake-up call. Start watching your diet and (wait for it now) … exercise.”
There are others who will take the attitude of “so what. So long as you’re not obscene, who cares?”
I have no idea of how obscene I appeared as I felt absolutely no compunction to go check it out in the mirror. I just removed them, turned them around, and donned them the proper way. Something that took all of fifteen seconds thanks to the stretchy elastic waistband.
What is obscene, at least in my dictionary, is the word “exercise.” A shiver runs up my back every time I hear the word. (By the way, does that qualify as a form of exercise?). I’m a reasonably proficient writer, and I don’t think the word appears in any of my sixty short stories and seven published novels except to “exercise caution” or “exercise patience,” both rather non-physical applications of the word.
My friend J wrote a post to her Farther to Go blog the other day extolling the benefits of her physical exer… uh, physical exertion program. Toward the end, she said something that caught my eye. She found that sometimes sitting and imagining going through a particular routine actually helped in the physical performance of that routine. Sort of a One-Two approach.
Well, as of today, I’ve progressed to Stage One.
Check with me next month to see how much that’s helped.
Thanks for reading. Please let me hear from you.
Next week: I’ll really, really try to get to THE BISTI BUSINESS.
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.