I rolled over in bed last night and made the mistake of stretching my legs.
Almost instantly, my left calf started to seize up in a massive Charley Horse.
If I had a dollar for every time this has happened to me, I could buy myself a brand new summer wardrobe and even a fancy brassiere.
In the past, I would have vocalized my distress.
“Ow, ow, owie, ow! Fuck!”
But last night, I didn’t make a peep. I just sat up and rubbed my hardened calf like I have done so many numerous times. Eventually, I could feel the muscle start to loosen. It took about 2 minutes because the bastard didn’t want to let go.
I decided to use the bathroom since I was wide awake, so I gingerly put some weight on my leg.
Dang, that hurt.
Yet again, no sound came from me. A silent wince was all I was giving this fucker.
Because I am used to it. I have become complacent.
I seriously wouldn’t know how to behave if I awoke without some kind of pain. In fact, I betcha I would probably think that I was dead.
I want to be cremated, no funeral. Scatter my ashes next to the jukebox when I die.
Rock and Roll, please.