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Monday, January 21, 2013

What if We Didnt Keep Track of Our Age

Been feeling something heavy lately. Oh yeah. My birthday. Funny how that goes from when you were a kid and you were all about it to carrying this heavy piece of sludge. Yeah. Another year and all that means and purports. Look we aren't wine. We are not getting better. But isn't the whole digit thing what really brings us down? Wouldn't we be better off as an arrow shot from nothing to nothing with no one measuring the arc? I mean, really,what is age but a way for other people to get a handle on you.

The old people love it. I don't mean the old people chronologically, I mean the old people. You know the people who started talking about being old when they were twenty. They love being old. They love talking about their back or the feet or their sight or their private parts. They were the ones who started going to bed in college at ten o'clock and talking about the "kids" staying up. They really take pleasure in aging and nailing all the people who stayed up all night and then went jogging in the morning.

The old people send you those cards. You know. Hey, sorry to hear your penis just fell off. Guess age gets everyone eventually Ha Ha. And they comment on those kids (thirty somethings) who are habitually doing foolish things. Sometimes they call each other mom and dad. But imagine if these same people never knew their own age. They would still act old but they couldn't point to you and go. Ha! Your the same age as me! You're old! They would have no idea.

Imagine that. If you felt young then you would be young. In fact you wouldn't have any idea how to age because you would have no idea how old you were. So if you felt like acting twenty your whole life then that is what you should be. Why shouldn't you be twenty to the day you die. Or if you wanted to be sixty you could be sixty. Right up to the day you kicked. No more obnoxious cards. No more obnoxious cakes. No  more disingenuous people saying, oh how do you feel now that you are blah blah.

No. I think I'm going to go for that. Eighteen. Cool age. Guess I'll stay there. Until I decide I want to be nineteen.

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Books by William Hazelgrove