Let’s all get old and die
later.
Or
The quirks of the elderly are
not necessarily part (not parcel) of the disintegration of the various
systems. I face my defects every day,
now. Now that I am seeking remedies for
the slowly encroaching discomforts of age.
It’s really about time. (I am 65)
There is a thought that stays
in the conscious but seems to take up little time or space -- the thought that I have worked hard and
accomplished something (not sure what, progeny? -- and I use this word in the warmest sense).
And for my work I am rewarded
with
Medicare
Urinary disorder
Wrist pain
Time to practice
Practice
Time to teach … teaching
Time to eat
Etc
The world is not eager for me
to be responsible for it. I
surmise. Mainly, I have little
motivation to be active in the world. I
have grown used to my own company. Not
the LLC. To which I will never be used.
But how does this play out?
I am a bit afraid of 70, 75 -- they look really implausible.
Which reminds me of the other
reward of the rapid, quiet, cold ticking of an older person’s clock: there’s time for some serious discussion with
God
Which should have been going
on all along.
Yoga might help all this too.
And there is the upside, the view from the mountaintop, and all the people look like ants. Fire ants.
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