it's over

I'm afraid it's all over, friends. I'm nearly a goner.

I was at the Codes dept this morning, picking up some permits - like I do - and bantering with the lovely ladies there - I like these ladies a lot because the laugh at a lot of my jokes, which happen in that Robin Williams-rapid fire-nonsensical way, and may not actually be funny... "but damn it, the energy's great" - when the topic turned to Wifey's recent proclamation to begin a foray into the composting craze. That combined with the fact that my 'rents will be visiting next weekend to help show us the way with planting a new garden. Enter the new fear of future - near certain - pain. Gardening. Apparently this activity requires hours of time spent hunched over weeding, planting, and stuff I don't know yet, and all these hours spent doing stuff I've yet to do will be causing me years of pain. And that sucks.
Screw you, tools of my slow death.

Well I'm not a fan of pain, much less a slow death (of my own), so I'd like to take this opportunity to back out of the strenuous undertaking. I say "No" to Wifey. "No" to labor-intensive crap. "Boo" to pain in the back, knees, neck, hands, and fingers. I mean, come on you guys... really? Do you want me to wake up in a couple of years with enough pain to keep me in bed the whole day and saying to myself "Wha Happan?"

I didn't think so.