I'm sure I must be a thousand years old

Okay, maybe I'm not a thousand years old. I just feel it.

Everything hurts. No, really. Everything. I can barely type without cringing, I have bruises everywhere (and not the ones that are fun to get), and I think I may have injured my finger. But hey, I *did* it. I did six or seven hours of the hardest physical labor I've ever done, and I survived it. And now I have five days to rest up from it before I have to do it twice more.

They say to give it a couple of weeks before quitting because it's so hard, and I think that's reasonable. I will give it two or three more weeks, and if my body doesn't give out, I'll have the heavenly weekend schedule, the great benefits, and five days a week in which to do whatever the hell I please. It'll be worth it if my body can take it.

I cannot go sing tonight; I can barely walk. Getting up from my seat at the movies (we finally saw Sky Captain) was harder than standing up after abdominal surgery, and that's something I wouldn't exaggerate about. Oy.

I used to say, when things were tough, "I'm young; I'll bounce back." I ain't so young any more.

We'll see.

(no subject)

Because I was quick to whine about how ouchy I am after two nights at FedEx, I thought it would be appropriate to let y'all know that it's already getting better. I can walk a little better, and I can type without too much pain. someotherguy bought me some ben-gay, an ice pack, and some finger wrap/splint thingies, and I'm feeling pretty optimistic. Thanks, everyone, for the encouragement, both here and in email.

For the record, I have learned two things this week: I loathe L. L. Bean, and I have learned the true value of a "Fragile" label.