Oh, I guess I should note ...

... that I started the Neupogen on Saturday, which is supposed to help me with the anemia. On Sunday, I really didn't feel much different. However, I didn't sleep well on Saturday night, so that may have had something to do with it.

On Sunday evening, I did the PEG-Intron shot, took three ibuprofens and one benadryl (to help me sleep) and I awakened in pretty good form. I didn't drag in the midafternoon on Monday, as has been the case; however, around 6 p.m. I started feeling just a little flu-like.

We'll see how Tuesday goes.

Grace and peace ...

The Rolling Stones were right ...

Being a '60s and '70s rock aficionado, I sometimes reference things that spawn comments from younger people along the lines of, "Huh? Say what?"

So, I've taken to prefacing some of my remarks with explanations, which is what I'm about to do here. Yeah, yeah, I know: That's kind of like having to explain the punch line of a joke. But I can's resist a little education.

For instance, the British rock band The Who had a hit called "My Generation," in which lead singer Roger Daltrey engaged in a staccato-like chant of :

People try to put us down
Talkin' 'bout my generation
Just because we get around
Talkin' 'bout my generation
Things they do look awful cold
Talkin' 'bout my generation
I hope I die before I get old
Talkin' 'bout my generation

OK, Daltrey turned a cool 61 years old on March 1 and I'm pushin' 50. I bet it's been a decade or more since he sang "I hope I die before I get old."

Which brings me to The Rolling Stones' "Mother's Little Helper," which opens with the line, "What a drag it is getting old ..." (We won't even talk about Mick Jagger's age. Whew! Look at him! Does the phrase "rode hard an' up wet" ring a bell to anyone?)

Now, getting old is just part of the process of living and dying. I know that. But the effects of age on this mortal shell has hit home with me lately. I won't go into all of the sordid details, particularly since I'm more than a year away from turning 50. In the grand scheme of things, I really have no reason to whine.

But twice in the past 24 hours I haven't been able to remember whether I've taken my Ribivarin and have had to count the pills to see! Sheesh! I'm going to have to go to the discount store and buy one of those cruddy little pill counters. You know, the one your grandparents have with the letters "Su-M-T-W-Th-F-Sa" on it.

Daltrey's wrong, but in a way, Jagger's right: It is a drag gettin' old! Still, I'd rather have the breath to sing about the drag of getting old than be 6 feet under ...

Grace ("Grace? She died 20 years ago!"), peace, and love ...