I just made half the century mark yesterday and boy I feel old. Birthdays in my 20’s mean booze and jam heavily on guitar or chase a good tune and always past the legal limit. Now? A good book to read on until la-la land is better. Sighs.
Some people look better with age. The golden tinge of skin color and the crumpled lines in the corner of the eye made George Clooney appear in perpetual smile. How odd to be so crumpled and yet so good looking. And, leathery it may seem, the roughened skin around his face add to his manhood appeal. But I am no Clooney, and my furrows suggest more of a squint than a smile.
And so, years seem to pass more quickly now than they were in my days. I am actually surprised or it caught be by surprise to be fifty – the ultimate “F” word. Where have the years gone? The years seem to catch up on me and they pile up fast – too fast, really. Faster than unregulated taxi meters click the kilometers away.
That’s the trouble with birthdays; they keep adding numbers. They go from 48 .. 49 .. 50 .. and they never count back. Age is a counting number – never an integer number to have a chance of a negative (counting back) number. They don’t stretch from 49 to 49.5 to 50. No. And neither do they offer discounts.
I wonder if our good actor Clooney shares these thoughts. Would you bet? I bet he does. He is 56. Six more counting years over the ultimate F word.