I find it increasingly hard to accept the volume of time it now takes me to accomplish what should be the most straight forward of simple tasks, labors that I am sure used to complete in but a jiffy. Not that a particularly pressing piece of brain surgery awaits my attentions, but such circumstances are inclined to leave me aghast.
My fingertips have lost much of their dexterity, and a good deal of feeling, and added to their inclination to tremble when under the slightest exertion makes even the rudimentary manual manipulation of fiddly items irritatingly challenging.
Thus we reach the cruelest of creeping changes, a sad lack of patience, and the rapidly growing realization that such issues will not improve this lifetime, and that any possible future reincarnation will be wholly too late to address current dilemmas.
I have learned to put things down momentarily, walk away, relax, rest, and when suitably revitalized, reappraise, solve, or as a last resort embarrassingly beg for help.