On Aging

I didn’t think it’d get here so soon. Aging, I mean. I sort of thought it would just arrive with prior announcements like relatives from the East. Or maybe it would pounce on one at the age of 70 or 75 or so, like a cat on a rubber ball. I didn’t know it would creep mouse-like through a small crack in the wall and sit in the corner, mocking me, all the while sending out invitations to all its relatives and friends. They come in hordes, assaulting my body with aches and pains, frailties and fractures, trying to tie me to a rocking chair.

I’ve tried to fend them off, but every day is a struggle. Every day I hold one at bay, wary about its relatives sneaking up on me, and all the while, Aging sits there, smiling, nodding, waiting to welcome me with open arms.

But I’m not ready to give in just yet. My body may succumb to the veracities of old age, but my mind cannot be taken so easily.

I’ve got things to do before I get old, places to go, people to see, words to write, songs to sing. I’m just getting started, Mr. Aging. So wipe that smirk off your face. And creep back through that crack in the wall. I’m not ready for you yet.


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