Who are you, and whatinthehell do you want?.... Oh... sorry... remember now, I think I mighta invited you...
I've noticed, nowadays, I don't have to nod down near as far to see my belly.. and.. I was once 6' tall (am now not... 5'11”+ change)... but I SWEAR, when I go to tie my shoes, they HAVE to be farther away than they usedta be!
There are some things, that really usedta bug me, not-so-much any more... not being first in line.. not worrying about raising my hand to be the first to answer the question by the higher up/trainer/HR dude/whatever... favorite sport's teams results... driving 7 miles per hour under the speed limit... the rung on the corporate ladder I was on...
And too, some things that usedta roll off my back, that now cause consternation:
Loud people... tailgaters... occupational ass-kissers... a server whose eyes never focus lower than your eyes.. (all your “needs” are 20” below that), and with googly grin they say “Is there anything I can get you?”... Profanity in public. (YOU Victor?) Yes, me.
I look in the mirror, see me... rough.. .oh... rough... then, my eyes look outward, and what's appealing to me has absolutely zero correlation chronologically to what I've just peeked at in the mirror. (What's wrong with this Polaroid?) Oops.
There is NO ONE my friggin' age. When I look out: “Oh heck, he/she's much younger than me”... or.. “there's no way I'm as old as he/she”... There's no inbetween, my age. . The hell happened to people my age? (Or is it focus? Lack thereof... SURELY not denial?)... Insert Muttley's laugh here – the sidekick dog of Dick Dastardly
Running. Running usedta come easy. Down the basepaths.. To the Flanigan's house... Across the court... Down the sideline... Nowadays, when getting ready for a softball game, I visualize going 4 for 5... In actuality, I end up 1 for 4, and THANK GOD for the “Courtesy Runner”who comes to relieve me (Fancy for “This guy's an old fart, please get him off base before our league gets sued”) ... Today, running is pretty much exclusively relagated to: “To the squatter” by Willie Makeit...
Crying now doesn't always involve physical pain. It's precipitated by memories invoked of yesteryear... yester-people... touching stories seen/heard of folks you have no idea whointhehell they are.. mebbe even just a thought thru the brain, that simply trips that 'softy' spot.
I sit more. I eat less. I talk less. Type more. Hell I even text.
“Visits” back in the day, usedta involve dressing for whatever the weather was... making sure you had 'nuff petrol to get you there... sticking your finger in the “Sterling 1” holes of the tele... breaking in on their party line.. to see if “now is a good time to come visit”... Today, we visit instantaneously. If we getta email we don't necessarily wanna respond right away, we “save as new.” (They'll never know I've already read it.”)
Touch, back in the day, was just that. Now... it's an email... a forwarded email... a text.. a voicemail... There's no finding a pen, writing, signing, looking up street addy's, buying a stamp, licking, folding, affixing, walking to mailbox. Today's touch is instantaneous.
We've not come full cycle, 'cause, compare 2011 to 1991, then 1971, then 19-fitty-one... Change.. Aging brings change (Damnit)...
My eating habits ain't the best. Pass me some burnt ends, hell, I've made it this many years... Damn those Chili Cheese Fritos go PERFECT with the 85 cent rolla chocolate donuts in our machine.
Opinionated. Selective. I'll be damned if I will. You gotta be kidding me? No thanks, you go ahead. Sounds like fun, but I just ain't really up for it – thanks though.
Old age has this way of rearranging our priorities from “what am I supposed to do”.. to “what does he/she want me to do”.. to “what are my responsibilities to do”.. and... finally, we're back in 'babyland'.. “What DO I wanna do?”
Your thoughts on aging? Please know, if you stream me something, please turn that crap up 'cause I don't hear as good as I usedta. I've got the runs now. Oops. Typo. I've got to run now. Love, Victurd.
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