So I wake up today and just stare at the ceiling, utterly terrified. I'm afraid to move a muscle. Why? Well, let me put it this way: how many things can you think of that still function properly after 40 years? Yes. It's the bad birthday today. I'm lying there thinking, this muscle in my chest has been beating non-stop for 40 years. How is that possible? You go to an antique or thrift store and look at 40 year-old junk and that's what it is - junk. It's broken, doesn't work anymore. Why should it? How many cars made in 1970 are still on the road? How many household appliances from that year are still in use (my mom's oven excepted)?
It's truly extraordinary, the human body. I'm not an immodest man, but I do not look my age. And with everything I've done and do, I really should. I think that's what helped me finally get out of bed. I take comfort in the fact that I still look like I'm thirty-something. I've even had people say I look like I'm in my 20s, bless 'em. Ain't vanity great? Nevertheless, I'm on my way to old. I try to envision my older years...jamming to AC/DC in the nursing home, smoking cigarettes and watching zombie movies, and being a crotchety old timer in general (remember Bubba Ho-tep?). Yeah, someday.
For now and the immediate future, I'll be falling back on the tried and true method of dealing with my age as exemplified by comedian Jack Benny - lying. And just like Jack, I do believe that I will be staying 39 for a while.