... it's downright uncomfortable ...
I started to write a piece about revolutions. I was half way through before an editor told me the topic was resolutions, not revolutions.
This aging stuff is suffocating. You can't do anything without somebody correcting you. Nothing is really smooth anymore. Everything seems sort of bumpy, out of sorts, sometimes downright uncomfortable.
And there's always someone there asking if they can help. What the hell, do I look like an invalid!
So I resolve not to punch the stuffy young physician right in the nose next time he tells me I gotta quit eating so much, or lay off the cheeze-its, or knock off the martinis. If you listen to him, life gets to be a drag.
And that dad-gummed cop who stops traffic for me. I'm not THAT old. I shake my stick at him, but he just smiles and waves back.
You have to admit that we seniors are supporting the medical field. Why, if it weren't for us, they'd go broke. I mean, they take a big bite of social security -- and I don't seem to have a say about that, neither. Then I pay through the nose for medical insurance, which the HMO slashes every other year, and the co-pay goes up, up, up.
I swear, I'm not gonna get sick any more. Just to spite 'em.
If I could count up all the resolutions I've made over the years, we could stoke the Queen Mary's boiler from here to London. Of course, I've kept most of them --resolutions, that is. Including the one where I promise I ain't never gonna lie again.
January 2, 2004