Bitch, Moan, or Complain?

What should I do today, bitch or complain?  That's my mood, and it is not one that should be shared.  

"If you don't have anything positive to say. . . ."

I know.  I wasted Saturday.  Completely.  When I woke up, I was simply waiting for the day to pass.  Hideous.  When I thought about that, I realized that in the old days when I felt like this, I would put on my shoes and go for a long run or I would go somewhere to shoot hoops.  After I exhausted myself, after I had blown out all the carbon, so to speak, I would relax.  I can do neither of those things anymore.  And so I took my camera out for a limp.  But my knee was hurting more than usual and I didn't get very far.  I was not exhausted by anything but pain.  My ribs, my shoulders, my elbows, my knees. . . they are all shot.  My neck, too.  

"Why don't you swim?"

"I can't really rotate my arm well after the accident."

"What about biking?"

Etc.  

I stopped by the Vespa store yesterday.  They had nothing used in my flavor.  

Back home by noon, I had exhausted my resources.  I decided to take a nap.  When I got up, I looked for a way to watch the Tyson Fury fight on the internet.  PPV on t.v. was going to be $90.  I was sure some crackhead would be streaming it with a camera from his t.v. set.  

I went to my mother's for a bit.  When I came home, I returned to my internet search.  All I could find were boneheads who were watching the fight and giving their own commentary.  I sat in front of the computer like an idiot, listening.  When the fight was over, I found a channel on YouTube that was showing it right away.  So. . . I watched the fight.  It was an awful waste of time, not a good or exciting fight in any way.  

And that is how I spent the day.  

This morning, I feel no motivation once again.  Could it be the moon?  Perhaps I should have rubbed myself with bear grease and gone to the woods to hunt critters last night.  Something.  Anything.  

I wish I could find something to excite me.  I have cut the cable.  I should also unplug the television.  Stay off the computer.  Sit in a quiet room and meditate.  

I just want to go for a long run.  What have I left, chair yoga and tai chi?

I will try some movement things today.  I have ideas.  

Should I bitch or complain?  Or maybe a simple moan would do.  

The time you won your town the race  
We chaired you through the market-place;  
Man and boy stood cheering by,  
And home we brought you shoulder-high.  

To-day, the road all runners come,  
Shoulder-high we bring you home,  
And set you at your threshold down,  
Townsman of a stiller town.  

Smart lad, to slip betimes away  
From fields where glory does not stay,  
And early though the laurel grows  
It withers quicker than the rose.  

Eyes the shady night has shut  
Cannot see the record cut,  
And silence sounds no worse than cheers  
After earth has stopped the ears:  

Now you will not swell the rout  
Of lads that wore their honours out,  
Runners whom renown outran  
And the name died before the man.  

So set, before its echoes fade,  
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,  
And hold to the low lintel up  
The still-defended challenge-cup.  

And round that early-laurelled head 
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,  
And find unwithered on its curls  
The garland briefer than a girl's.

(A.E. Houseman)