Sex, Lack of Sleep and Pink Toenails

Naming my blog posts has always been harder for me than writing an entire post. I thought about naming this one The Joys of Self Sex but then I’d have write about the topic and while I’m not a prude, that’s not going to happen. I learned my lesson back in my first year of widowhood when I wrote a post titled, Sex with a Ghost. That one still pulls in views from all over the world. Who would have guessed that sex with a ghost would be so popular and since self sex is ever so much more common than ghost sex, my poor little view counter would probably get busted if I were to write about that touchy---no pun intended---subject. Instead, I’ll just start ramble writing and see what ends up on my computer screen.

I am worn out! I am not cut out for the busy social life I’m been living since spring in pursuit of building friendships. I could curl up in a ball and sleep like a bear for the next three months except my dog won’t let me sleep past daylight in the swamps. I don’t live near a swamp, that’s just a metaphor for when it’s light enough for Levi to make out his nemesis, The Rabbit, through the hazy light of dawn. Every morning  during my childhood and high school days my mom would wake me up by yelling, “It’s daylight in the swamps!” We didn’t live never a swamp back then either, nor did she when she was growing up. Some family sayings stick through the generations, don’t they, to a time when their origins is all but forgotten. My father’s favorite, silly phrase was, “Do you live around here or ride a bicycle?” And he would ask that question of any little kid he encountered. I just googled the phrase and was surprised to see it appeared in 4-5 obituaries of people in my dad’s age bracket and the origin of the phrase seems to come from The Gargoyle Magazine (of College Wit and Humor) Volume 18,1924. Don’t you just love Google? The moral of that little story is be careful what you include in any obituary you might be required to write because Google will spit it out to anyone who comes knocking on its door…like my Sex With a Ghost post that will live on past a time when I, too, am nothing but an see-through entity that comes in the night. Again, no pun intended.

The dog went to the groomers this week and I got a pedicure. Let’s hear it for clean schnauzer fur and pink human toenails. I wish I could still reach my toenails---I don’t bend like I used to---because I hate paying $41.00 to get the job done. A friend of mine from the senior hall broke her wrist trimming her toenails, can you believe that! She gets hers done professionally now, but it was a long time before she could drive again after her surgery, the cast and physical therapy that followed the break. Old people woes. No matter how you try to avoid them they find you anyway like chin hairs and nipples that don’t line up without adjusting them manually. One goes south, the other goes west looking pretty silly through our silky blouses and thin sweaters and it never happens to pre-menopausal women with their firm breasts. I’m still mad about that.

My irrigation system guy was supposed to work on a leaky valve this morning but we had thunder storms last night and this morning making it impossibly wet where he’d have to work and he has to reschedule when he gets back to the office. So I’m sitting here wasting the time that was earmarked to follow him around like a puppy dog looking for treats. Well, not exactly wasting time. I’m waiting for a total of four---count them! One, two three, four---call-backs for scheduling appointments. Damn world thinks old people have all day to sit around waiting for the phone to ring. Once the calls all come in I'll be too busy again. I think I’ll take a nap and hope Don’s ghost doesn't come by for a little tryst. I really am getting sleep deprived! ©