Humbled.

I felt better yesterday than I have in ages, so I tried to get some things done - and I actually accomplished quite a bit - but I woke up this morning feeling like I might have to go to the ER. I even called my sister, just so someone would know about that possibility. My blood pressure was about 50 points higher than normal. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. My arms began to tighten and tingle. My head ached. I felt sick and fuzzy.
I drank some vinegar, took an enteric aspirin and went back to bed. After no appreciable improvement, I broke an Enalapril into quarters and took a piece. Eventually, my blood pressure subsided a bit.
I called the pharmacy about some refills. I asked the person on the line about the prices of my 3 meds. She rattled off the individual prices so fast that I couldn't compute the information. I asked her to give me a total price and she said, in a snappy tone, "Didn't you write down what I just told you?" She then went on to tell me that they were busy and she didn't have a calculator handy. I said thank you and hung up. You would think that these professionals would be highly aware that they are often dealing with sick and cloudy minded people.
After 3 failed attempts, I gathered myself together enough to go to the pharmacy, not even knowing if I had enough money for my meds. Also, my gas needle was on empty. It stays on empty these days. I drove in a haze, trying not to panic.
While I was waiting for the pharmacy technician to check the 2 discount cards I had with me - one of which was turned down the last time I tried it, even though I called the help number and they told me my pharmacy chain was included on its list - I began to notice all the folks in the pharmacy area, waiting for help. Most of them were older than me. A woman, maybe 60 years old, had on a pair of granny jean shorts, elastic at the waist and ballooning over her belly. Her hair was cut in a style that was totally unbecoming to her. It was as if she was holding onto a hairstyle of her youth. But, it no longer worked for her. Poor thing.
The men wore shorts and sandals. They attempted, for the most part, to maintain THEIR youthful hairstyles, with generally sad and dismal results. I guess I understand men better than women, so I could see how they were aware of their fading machismo. The cock of the walk turned old, soft and grey. Aching and ineffectual. No longer at the peak of their game, but struggling to maintain a manly image. I realize that I fit in with them. It's as if you don't know another way to be and by the time you figure out a new strategy, IF you figure it out, it's too late. Game over. It's a shock when you come to the realization that your few short years of "immortality" have ended. And, guess what? It seems you're mortal after all.
It's all so depressing and ridiculous. Humanity doesn't know its place in the world. We're a conflicted bunch.
The only thing I can cling onto is compassion. "Shared passion" for my fellow traveler. We are all, every one of us, clowns - sad, absurd, bumbling, sublime and beautiful in our ineptness.