I awoke this morning, as per usual, cursing and physically abusing the alarm clock. Staggered to the coffee pot (scratching various sectors that men are wont to do). Having garnered a cup of this soothing dark nectar, I made my way to the bathroom for the morning ritual cleansing. Yes, I got coffee BEFORE venturing forth; it’s called “priorities.” Being that I was still only half awake, I felt my way toward the shower knobs and was rewarded by the sound of the water hissing through the “efficiency” showerhead.
This ritual only takes a few moments. I dare not dally lest I fall asleep whilst sudzing or worse, leaving no hot water for anyone else in the house. I stepped forth from the shower, wiped the mirror, drank the last half of the coffee (the first half consumed prior to stepping into the shower), and THAT is when I beheld a horrific sight! There was that monster again. The one that resembles Death Warmed Over! It was naked and dripping wet and it was absolutely terrifying.
Those bags under the bloodshot eyes! Familiar…..yet strange. More coffee would be required before my synapses could fully wrestle with this frightening spectre. Had Bela Lugosi returned from beyond? Did some wayward member of the Rocky Horror cast found its way into my mirror? Does this prove that there is, indeed, life after death?
I poured more coffee into an intravenous line, and returned to my investigation. That’s when it finally hit me, like a freight train, right between the bleary eyes: “Fat Man, you are OLD!” I then remembered how I once thought my own Grandfather was a raging antique who must have been the older brother of Methuselah, for he bore a striking resemblance to this creature I now saw staring back at me.
Where did the time go?
Who siphoned the youth from my veins and stuffed all that excess “fluff” in me whilst I slumbered?
When did my Fab Abs become Abs of Flab?
Against whom shall I file suit for damaging not only my psyche, but my body?
Could it be that somewhere along the path of life, time had passed me by?
Have I become “old”?
Should I begin wearing white socks with black dress shoes to cut the grass?
How does one respond to this “stage of life” with any dignity? Well, I guess I’ll have to respond the same way I have for the last forty-some-very-odd years: With a rousing “Dignity be Cursed!” I’ve got a life to live and I’m planning to enjoy every breath of it. I fully intend to make a difference somewhere along this journey. I may have slowed a bit, my hair may have gray highlights, I may listen to “oldies” like Jerry Garcia, The Beatles, and the lot, but I’m not through living yet! I’m not going to give in to antique-hood until I’m forced to.
Life is for LIVING, not for hiding!
Now…break out the pudding and let’s party! Okay, maybe a nap first.