Fifteen

Somehow, without doing a thing to strain or wrench it, I have managed to pull my left shoulder. One moment it was fine and the next thing you know, bam, it hurts to rotate it or to do a motion that resembles a reverse arm curl. I know I mention the middle age issues quite a bit, but it's a perplexing time. My body is changing and yes, I am all confused about it. I have even become emotional about it even though these changes are natural and all about becoming a woman, only older. What I loathe is that these odd assortment of ailments have a kind of Ninja quality to them. You can't see or hear them coming, but all of a sudden, OW! What tha $#@%!! I can't move my frackin' shoulder.
Which led me to reorganizing the clothes in my closet. That's always my natural reaction to the reality that I am not in control of one damn thing. Going through my clothes, categorizing them, colorizing their order from earthtones to neutrals, and then sequencing them according to use during a work week, well, it was darned exhilarating. It gave me security that my wardrobe has meaning because now it has order and it also gave me the illusion that there are some things that are still in my control. You know, like voting.