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A few words on Geezerhood. 17 months ago

I turned sixty yesterday and I feel oddly compelled to talk about that. I think mostly just to get things about it straight in my own head. There is an odd “sensation” attached to it for me for reasons I’m not sure I totally understand.

There’s shit about this rolling around in my head…so, in no order:

If people live to about eighty, then I’ve just finished 75% of my life. Or, I’ve got 25% of it left. So, the Grim Reaper isn’t coming for me yet, but he sure does have my name on the list now. I don’t sit around worrying about croaking, don’t misunderstand me, but this number, 60, has brought me a little closer to facing my mortality in a pretty direct way.

Though more sophisticated and mature, my opinions about things are pretty much what they were when I was 18 or so. Yeah, sure, some things have changed as I’ve changed, but largely I still hold the same opinions and thoughts that I did some 40 years ago. My point is that I don’t feel old in my head. Yet 60 is an old number.

And that brings up something else. I know that the concept of “old” is a lot dependent on one’s age. To someone who is 20, 40 seems old. But everyone would agree, mostly, that 60 is certainly old…me included. I’m two years away from an “early retirement” age, five years away from a “regular” retirement age, who knows how long away from being the victim of some old man’s medical problems. I have had some arthritis for some time and I feel it more and more each day. Yet, except for my fuckedfoot syndrome and some arthritis, I’m in remarkably good health, not likely to stroke out or die of heart disease…so I’m not so old medically.

My libido is as healthy as it’s ever been, if one can call it “healthy,” maybe getting stronger as I age. I still have full and regular erections, Viagra not necessary at all…though I think it would be fun to party with. And I have a sexy, beautiful, libidinous girlfriend cum wife who is 17 years younger than I…and I ain’t askeert of the challenge of keeping her satisfied…Groucho eyebrow wiggle, eyebrow wiggle…

Yet I crossed some sort of threshold for me yesterday, one that makes me somewhat uneasy, for reasons I still haven’t fleshed out, no matter this limited screed here.

Oh, well, things are what they are, right?

Meh, fuck me if I can’t take a joke.



Comments:

I would not agree that 60 is old. Not in your case anyway. It’s subjective, age, in part, though. Some people are more trapped chronologically than others. I’ll offer my father as example. He is 66. But he looks and acts and lives as if he is 20, 30 years older than that, as a result of hard work alloyed and or allied depending on how you look at it, with over 50 years of severe and chronic alcoholism, substance abuse, heavy smoking, malnutrition; a lifetime of self abuse (and abuse of others) and neglect have ravaged him. He weighs 97 pounds and can not be without his oxygen tanks, more pills than he or anybody else can keep track of, can not go anywhere or do anything except visit his doctors and the hospital, more and more of his bodily functions shut down annually, and he is an incredibly pessimistic, negative, asshole who has always had and still does have, a piss poor attitide about everything, and as most of us are aware attitude is as much a part of good health as anything else. (After spending time with him, I feel like I need to go into detox just to rid myself of his negative vibes.) My point is that you and he are on opposite ends of a continuum, with you being on the beneficial end, brother. You are a young 60, he, an ancient, decrepit, corpselike 66. Lifestyle, choices, attitude…........sure, genetics too. But it’s apparent you choose life. He has been dying since he was in his 20’s, when he was first hospitalized for his alcoholism. My brothers and I refer to him as “The Longest Running Suicide Attempt in History”. I know that sounds cruel, but try being that man’s child; it has not been an easy thing to watch someone do that to themselves for 40 years, nor to have been caught in the middle at times, by proxy. I say that not by way of complaint; I am who I am because of all of my life experience and I’d not change any of it or wish to be anybody else. I am merely using him as an example of what is the opposite of you. How age is subjective. You chose life. He never did. Good for you: you’re young at heart, your arteries are clean, YOU have a daughter who adores you instead of one who merely tolerates you because it’s the right thing to do, a girlfriend who adores you, a foot that WILL heal in time, and a healthy attitude about life and living. You’re not a statistic (ie, living til 80, 75 percent of your life being over yada yada yada….......) My father is a statistic. One of his own making, just as you are NOT. I understand why you’re thinking more about mortality right now. We all have milestone moments when it becomes more of a consideration. But honestly, you and life are good friends, I’d say, so whatever time you have left whether it’s 20, 30 40 years, the quality of it is going to be wayyyyyyyy better than if you were on the same end of the continuum as my old man. Keep on carping that diem Unc….....

Enore is

Jesus Christ, Bee!

THIS is a comment worth me framing.

I’ll be back. I need to think this over before I comment so I don’t sound like some dumbass.

For now…thank you and smooch.

Back atcha baby. I know it was a lot of info, maybe too much so, so please don’t feel compelled to respond, I certainly won’t be offended. It’s the kind of info (about my father) that is hard to respond to, I realize. But it’s obvious you got why I was bringing it up in the first place, which is cool. I was kind of…hmmm…well, nervous isn’t the right word….hesitant, I guess about putting it out there. I have not talked much about him here at all. But today it seemed to make sense to. Thanks for being receptive, and for receiving said info in the manner in which it was intended. Bee

Enore is

No, no, Bee! I appreciated EVERY single word you wrote.

And I laughed out loud at the ”...Longest Running Suicide Attempt in History…” comment, though I suppose it isn’t really funny.

I know someone kind of like your dad, though not as bad off, but he’s younger and has plenty of time left to fuck himself up more…if he doesn’t croak. Emphysema, four packs of cigarettes a day, history of injectable drug use, repeated ventures into the ER because he can’t breathe, doctors telling him to stop smoking or die…

You know, like almost everyone else, I sure could have made better choices thru my life. I could make better ones now. But overall things have been ok. I don’t really feel old. Mostly I think it’s some sort of emotional reaction to the number. Oh, I’m not sure what it is, exactly.

But you’ve manged to put whatever I’m feeling in a grand perspective, Bee, and actually wrenched my attitude around from what it was to…hey, this ain’t so bad after all. And I’ll tell you, it’s often very hard to move me around like that.

Thank YOU!

Most welcome…..and it is OK to laugh at the Longest Running Suicide in History. It is a funny phrase. WE laugh about it…...Your Jeny is a lucky daughter. Somehow I bet she knows that….. ;~)

Yet another great thing to say to me. - Enore
Untitled - Bee wants to go live on Pandora with the Na'vi
LOL! Thanks, Bee. - Enore
Untitled - Bee wants to go live on Pandora with the Na'vi
That's freaking - Tiisi
Out of cheers - Poetry Boy
Untitled - Bee wants to go live on Pandora with the Na'vi
Jeny decided she wasn't ready for... - Enore
Oh, by the way... - Enore

 

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