What a drag it is getting old

Middle age sucks.

On the other hand, it is vastly preferable to the alternative.

So, though I am currently complaining in a way, I'm congnizant of the fact that I live in an era when life expectancies are longer than ever and we benefit from modern medicine, sanitation, etc., and am overall doing pretty well. Your 50s ain't what they used to be. Average age of demise is in one's 80s now, while back when my grandfather was born, the average male that survived infancy in the US only lived to be 62 (of course, Grandpa beat that mark by 30 years despite decades-long addictions to tobacco and alcohol, so hopefully I've got his constitution).

At any rate, I'm at that age when I'm getting mystery injuries. Like, right now my right hand hurts along the pinky side as if it were bruised, but I have no recollection of doing anything to bruise my hand, nor is there an actual, you know, bruise. I did play softball last night, so maybe it has some connection with swinging a bat, but I don't quite buy that. I've had other little pains that I couldn't account for too, like I'm in that episode of The Next Generation where Riker and company are experimented on in their sleep.

Also, I have this damned floater thing in my right eye that has now been there for going on two years and I was told by the reliable source that is WebMD that it would have resolved itself by now. But it's still there being annoying. Add to that, when I wake up now my vision needs time to focus that it never needed before, which isn't a big deal but noticeable, and things that used to heal up quickly now take longer.

Anyway, such is the price of life.

Oh, and in my game I went 0-for-2, grounding into two forceouts; committed a throwing error and failed to hang onto a pop fly for a second error; and gave up three home runs while pitching. We lost 24-10 and were mercy-ruled after four innings.

Huzzah!