I posted last night that I needed to write for a little bit before I went to sleep. Once again I am crouching up against bedtime and I’m trying to pound out another few minutes before I turn in. You will be happy to know that last night’s productivity enhanced my manuscript a solid sixty words.
I have been thinking about the fact that I have to go to bed at a relatively early hour. I believe typical twenty-six-year-olds can stay up until wee hours of the morning, turn around and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for work the next day. “Not I!” said the writer.
When my bedtime approaches, my body shuts down. This is not the only aspect of my life that connects me to the geriatric. I recently found myself sitting on a porch, in a rocking chair, smoking a pipe with people considerably younger than me sitting at my feet. With nothing better to do, I told them a story.
These along with other qualities may put me in the superannuated category, but I’m ok with that. I understand that getting out of a chair kills one’s back. Maybe I don’t get all of the newspeak kids these days are talkin’. When I was their age…
I like to think that I’m preparing myself for old age. By the time my body catches up to my soul, it’ll be like friends meeting for the first time since grade school.
Too bad people don’t laugh off my wise-ass comments like they do for Grandma.
Image source: BartCop