As I age time seems to move slower, but also, I seem to have less of it. Yes, I know I have less of it because I have already exceeded the average life expectancy. That’s not what I’m thinking about. Each day I seem to have fewer hours in which to do anything besides taking care of myself. I don’t use makeup or get manicures; none of the usual female time-killing stuff. First, it takes me a long time to get moving after I wake up. All of my joints seem to require a moment of their own to move, or maybe to see if they still can move. Then I spend time eating breakfast; toast and a little cheese usually; coffee is the most important part of it. Allergy drops are supposed to go into my eyes at least ten minutes before I put the contact lenses in. Does my shower take ten minutes? Maybe. Lately, thanks to a new podiatrist, I’ve been treating toe nail fungus. She told me how to apply the stuff, but never said anything about letting it dry or waiting before I put on my stockings. So I do that after my shower. Walking around barefoot, which I hate, I brush my teeth ( about 2 minutes, comb my hair, pull out any hair growing on my chin. I get dressed from the top down and am usually ready to face the day by 10am, but sometimes not until 11.

Generally I function best before 4pm. This doesn’t leave me a lot of time. I try to do anything that involves money, or real thinking, in those few hours. If I do something in the evening, like writing this blog, I won’t post it until I read it tomorrow morning. In addition to all this, I run a zoom exercise class from 3:30 to about 4:15, three times a week; I try to walk for about an hour each day, and now I have a new toy: a compression pump for my swollen legs. I try to use that for an hour a day, also. It requires that my legs are elevated and because I need lots of space, I use the bed. Sometimes I can think of something productive to do while I lay there; too often I’m playing games on the computer. Here is a selfie of my legs in the compression boots.

This device originally belonged to my husband. After he died Robin tried to return it and no one would take it back. She stored it in the basement, bringing it out when it looked like I could use it. The boots are too large for me, necessitating a difficult dance to get them on. I could get my own medicare paid-for device if I had a different diagnosis for my problem. Maybe some day I’ll try to do that. Right now I’m too busy with toe nail fungus.

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