Age is a number, they say. Age is a mental concept, they say. You’re only as old as you feel, they say. Well “they” can go and f…ondle themselves on a highway. “They” are walking around with their head up their ass because growing old is inevitable but ridiculously hard to get used to. I’ve gained a newfound understanding for how age can creep up on you and then jump and throttle you like a facehugger.
We spend our annual holiday camping at a family resort, which is basically paying a lot of money to live like a homeless person. I used to be very anxious and actively involved in setting up our camp site making sure everything is done in a proper way because camping becomes a lot less fun when the wind blows your tent to the next country. The resort we stay at has people who are more than happy to set up the site for you, at a fee of course. Being who I am, I didn’t oblige because I have slaves working for free, my two teenage kids. But this process of getting them to do what I want them to do, implies an increased high blood pressure for yours truly, due to my method of giving them instructions. Wife says it’s just me barking random comments but I disagree. They don’t listen. (Maybe they don’t speak canine.) And contrary to what some of you might think, a raised blood pressure and two annoyed teenagers, does not a happy holiday make. This year I paid the fee, not because my kids didn’t want to help, but because I didn’t want too. It’s less effort.
In my younger days I would have blasted Britney without any consideration for retaining my own ability to hear, never mind the objections or feelings of those people around me. Music sounded better when it was loud, until it doesn’t anymore. The entertainment crew of the resort were playing music at the pool, blasting some atrocious shit at the volume of a missile launch through the speakers. Wife and I unconsciously migrated to the furthest point in the pool. We just drifted away from the source of the noise, to find a quieter place where we could have a normal conversation without having to spit in each other’s face from pure exertion to make our voices heard.
And don’t get me started on the utter bull shit they were playing. I mean who in their right mind listens to this shit? No wonder millennials are all set up for failure, just look at what the poor sods have on their playlists? I still believe that every time you hear an eighties song, it makes you a better person.
I normally could make quite a splash when I entered a pool, whether it be diving, bombing, falling in drunk… This time I refrained from any physical activity whatsoever because I had a very tough year. I resorted to hang around the pool like a hippo on a hot day. I turned out to be an annoyed hippo because this one little brat kept jumping in the pool, then he got out, then he jumped in, then he got out, then he jumped in, then…well you get the picture. All happening within two feet of my face. So instead of running the risk of me screaming at the toddler “For $#@!* sake dickhead, do you mind?” my Wife simply guided me to calmer waters.
I know if given the opportunity, I could be an Olympic athlete, if they make sleeping an Olympic sport. I do pride myself on being an excellent sleeper, especially lately. I never used to be very good at it, wasting my effort and time on things like partying until the sun comes up, hanging out with mates, watching movies and/or studying. As I grew older I developed an appreciation for the gift of sleep and even though it’s not official, I’ve started my training just in case they do elect sleeping as an Olympic sport. I now take naps as often as I can. Anywhere, anytime. I’m so focused that I would wake up in the morning and mentally schedule my next nap, before I even get out of bed.
Henry Ford invented a car (or stole the idea) because he got tired of walking from his house to McDonalds. Hence, we don’t have to do it anymore. Walking in the South African summer makes me sweat (which is not a good look for me) and besides, it takes much longer than a quick drive. Every time I walked from our camp site to the pool, I felt my fat cells withering away, crying sweaty tears in agony, as I was killing them slowly. I’m not a sadist and believe that every living thing has the right to live, their own little place in the sun. What kind of person would I be if I continue with the genocide of my own fat cells, even if there is an overpopulation of them around my midsection, a direct result of an unexpected escalation of their birth rate, over the festive season? So I used my car a little more than I normally did. To protect the innocent.
Getting out of bed or a chair or any position for that matter used to be easy. And without noise. During this holiday I realised my body is making more noises than it used to. Even if I had to move for a very good reason like getting a beer. Surprisingly these “noises” were not only created by the joints in my body, or the occasional fart, they also escaped from my mouth. Grunts and moans and other extra-terrestrial sounds that I’ve never been able to produce before. It’s like I learned a new language overnight.
Getting older is less fun than most other things in life, even though it’s bound to happen to everyone, irrespective of how many creams you slap on your face everyday.
The best thing would be to embrace the reality and make fun of yourself whilst you still have the mental ability to do so. And that’s also the reason why I’m back in the gym again because who are you calling old?
I’m only half way there.