As of the other week, I’ve made my 53rd trip around the sun.
Wait. I’m confused. Maybe it was my 52nd and I’m on the 53rd now.
Alright, fine, so let me just put it another way—I’ve reached Level 53, which means my score is getting pretty high! It also means I’m getting good at orbiting the sun.
I’m like fine wine and all
Hey, I’m getting better in other ways, too.
For instance—and this may sound unimportant, but it makes me happy and the people in my car happy and that’s what matters—I’m better at driving long distances than when I was young and basically had no travel stamina except for long periods of passenger sleeping.
Put me in the driver’s seat nowadays and I’m like Forrest Gump, all drive, Coco, drive and stuff.
And while I’m on the subject, lemme just tell you what else I’m better at—avoiding road rage. I can just let shit go now. Shit like Prius drivers high on kombucha, floating all la-la-la in the left lane, and drivers who don’t have cruise control. Or turn signals.
Folks, these are the real handicapped drivers on the roads.
I just eat my Cheetos and drive on now.
Staying out of trouble’s not as hard as it used to be
For example, I used-to-could stay out late and party down and basically set myself up for a super tired and probably head-achy next day, except for at least I’d have festive memories. But now, not so much—half the time I’d rather put on my jammies and watch Netflix.
This also means I’m better at going to bed on time.
Yep, you get better at that. Yay.
Smart-ass, smart-ass-ier, smart-ass-iest
You get wiser with age, too. I know when someone’s full of shit, for example. Like the other day when we went to Lowe’s about a hot water heater part that was still under warranty and the woman told us we’d have to bring in the faulty water heater. The whole damned water heater. That woman was full of shit.
This is the kind of wisdom Level 53 gets you.
You get better at negotiating with customer service reps, too. Like when I was on the phone with the cable company this morning and they told me I couldn’t have a new, updated modem because if they had to get new modems for everyone, they’d have to pass those costs on to consumers like me.
I told that young man—he was like, Level 25, I’m guessing, Don’t make me have to look up y’all’s quarterly earnings.
They’re bringing the new modem over tomorrow.
I like my glass half full and shit like that
Now this one may be hard to believe, but I’m in better shape now than when I was a young, Level 20-something unappreciative novice at life. This really isn’t saying much, because I was always real flimsy like a store-brand Q-tip, but I took up ballet in my late thirties, and at long last, I have a couple of leg muscles, making me, yep, less flimsy than ever at Level 53.
So if you’re still at a low level and can only dream of reaching Level 53 like me so that you, too, can age like fine wine, all I can say is, you just gotta stay positive.
Don’t let people scare you with their talk of hospitals and back pain and prune juice. Not to say I love the whole chin-like-a-chicken thing, ’cause I really don’t see the point of sagging skin.
Time just has a weird way of handling things. On the one hand, you might get smarter—or smart-ass-ier like in my case, and maybe you get grateful; gain some perspective, that sort of thing. And maybe you get some grandchildren to go on and on about, too. I hear that’s a nice perk.
On the other hand, your body gets all gunked up like an old car and basically just gives out eventually. This part is bullshit and hard to reckon with. The best I can figure is that ol’ Father Time is trying to make room for the grandchildren without having to build high-rises that cover the earth’s surface.
I don’t know.
Some people don’t age well in either the head part or the body. Or both. This all sucks.
And it seems like the people who are ill as snakes hold up for-fucking-ever. This makes no sense and really just punishes us all by having these assholes hanging around.
I’m not so sure I get your point here, Lord
Basically I like to look on the bright side because I’m all over some optimism. That’s why I put up the fight I do. I gotta figure there’s some kind of point to things, even if I do question God’s whole cycle of life plan.
Do we have to fall apart like we do? Did no one in heaven feel comfortable telling God that total atrophy was maybe a little harsh back when God invented everything?
Okay, fine, I admit it
So yeah, I’m getting a touch of the old age. Like this nagging stitch I keep getting in my right-upper-butt (technical term—I looked it up). And my hands are feeling stiff and achy in the mornings. Sometimes my whole body feels that way, actually.
And damned if I didn’t have a serious reaction to the highlights I used to get and lose a bunch of hair over it, the likes of which I’m still not fully recovered from in some spots. Pisses me off.
I know, I know, stuff happens when you’re young, too, but you get this shit in bulk later on. (I’m pretty sure there’s a Costco in the heavenly mall of aging.)
But I’m just gon’ dance around in my rose-colored glasses and make sure my selfies are all set to humor-me-for-god’s-sake mode.
Because apparently, there’s no way to sugarcoat it when I tell you this:
Aging is some shit, but I plan to see it through.
Now somebody get me a phone with giant numbers already.
As soon as you turn fifty, the AARP will begin to hound you to the ends of the earth.
I just feel like you should know this.