I am a well-rested invalid zombie with a deranged bladder.

It’s 7:30 a.m. and I don’t want to write this post. I’m tired, I’m crabby, I’ve got watery eyes, my shitty knees hurt (my shitty knees ALWAYS hurt) and the bottoms of my feet burn. I’d rather be in bed or — better yet — stretched out on the chaise in the family room drifting off to sleep with one of my favorite napping movies, most likely something with Margaret Rutherford, whose little face appears at left for your possible interest.

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In case you give a crap, our U-Verse TV service had a brain hemorrhage last night with no warning whatsoever. Sam got home from work at 10:30, and when we migrated into the family room at 11 to watch Isle of the Dead (1945) starring Boris Karloff (with a perm!) we had no TV channels and couldn’t access any of our recorded movies. So we watched a DVD instead — The Late George Apley (1947) starring Ronald Colman — and afterwards when Sam went to bed I called AT&T to find out what the hell is going on. They tried (and failed) twice to reboot the DVR from their end, so as a last resort a helpful recorded robot explained how I could do this myself ... and I actually did it! Holy crap, right? I’m a shleppy senior citizen with trifocals and a cane AND I REBOOTED MY OWN DAMN DVR! To be fair, rebooting only involved pressing the Power button on the front of the unit for five seconds, but I refuse to let any of you snarky killjoys ruin this moment for me.

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Are you ready for some world-class whining? It’s already 5:45 p.m. and this entire day has been a total loss. I haven’t done ANYTHING. I still feel achy, shitty and not particularly happy (see paragraph one), and in the midst of my private Thursday misery-fest I discovered that I CAN’T GET COMFORTABLE ANY MORE. I’m not comfortable on the couch after 15 or 20 minutes, I’m not comfortable at my desk because the chair is too low and hard as a rock, I toss and turn in bed due to various neuropathy issues and never being able to find a pain-free position, and I’m not even comfortable riding in a car any more since there’s never enough space to readjust my knees and feet. To tell you the truth, the only place I ever find relief is on the leather chaise in the family room ... except I’m unconscious within 90 seconds, and when I wake up four hours later I feel like an invalid zombie with a deranged bladder. (Correction: A well-rested invalid zombie with a deranged bladder.)

At this point I suppose the only thing I can do is take a nice shower, heat up some Schwan’s fish sticks and enjoy a pile of my new tartar sauce. You may recall that I bought a six-pack of Beaver Brand a few days ago from Amazon, which means I’m loaded with the stuff right now. Beaver Brand, by the way, is so damn good — it’s made with dill and capers instead of sweet pickle relish — that a clever person such as yours truly actually tries to invent new ways to eat it. At the moment I’m also considering Beaver Brand as a dip for French fries.

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