I never thought I’d find myself saying this, but I seem to have a ridiculous number of topics to write about today, and I can’t decide where to begin. I just keep bouncing from one to another to another, unable to settle anywhere.

I even tried “eeny-meeny,” but didn’t care for the way it turned out and ignored it. I don’t like letting chance make my choices for me.

So I’m going to sleep on it; and considering that I’ve been running on four hours of sleep last night and a one-hour nap this afternoon, that’s got to be my best hope. Then perhaps I’ll be able to think straight and settle on something later in the day.

And talking about not being able to function without sleep has me thinking back to the days of yore — way, way back in yore — when I could get four or five hours of sleep, work at full speed all day, go out partying with friends after work, get home in time for another quick four or five hours of sleep, and do it all again the next day.

And I never had those telltale bags under my eyes. Because I was young. And foolish.

I know you know what I’m talking about. All the things we did that we knew weren’t good for us, but we did them anyway because we thought we’d live forever and had plenty of years to start making healthy choices when we were older?

Yeah, well . . . I’m still waiting to start. How about you?

Remember those years of dieting by loading up on red meat and no carbs? Do you want to talk about your kidneys now?

And the smoking? I never did — it just tasted horrible — but most of my friends were smokers. And I must have inhaled a ton of second-hand smoke over the years. Didn’t you?

And driving after having “just a couple” of drinks? Or always driving like an Indy 500 reject, drunk or sober. Lucked out on that one — especially since there were no seat belts in those old cars.

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What I especially shudder at remembering is the number of horrific blind dates that my friends thought would be perfect for me. Thinking back, I’m sure at least a couple of them were axe murderers or sexual deviants. Why was I never murdered? And come to think of it, were those people really my friends?

Or simply spending the day at the beach without benefit of SPF-800 sunscreen. And I was a redhead!

And so on. The wonder of it all is that I did survive, and made it to the ripe old age of [deleted as a matter of principle — you never ask a woman her age or her weight].

But having accomplished the impossible task of survival thus far, I now need to get my eight to ten hours. I’m not 20-something anymore. So if you’ll excuse me . . .

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/22/24