So, I was sharing my delusions with my psychiatrist, as one will, and I made a shocking discovery: I was less than two years away from being 60 years old. No. Sixty years young. No, no, no, what am I saying‽ Not 60 years at all!
Inside, I still feel like I'm 12 years old. I can remember being ignored by the other children on the playground while I was figuring out how to maximize the deductions on my tax retur - oh! No, that can't be right. I...I...I puked during gym class (why, oh, why did they schedule it after lunch?), which reminded me that I needed to get my prostate check -
No, no, no, no, no! Do the math! 2018 minus 1960 equals 12! That's how it works when you're using the New Math, right? Oh, my Gord, I'm old enough to remember the New Math!
I can deny it no longer. I'm ancient.
Oddly enough, once I had made that breakthrough (daintily, so as not to hurt my increasingly fragile bones), I started acting like I was old. It wasn't something I was aware of - believe me, if I was aware of it, I would have have done something - hypnosis, electroshock therapy, change my diet, anything - to stop it.
For instance, I found myself shaking my fist at the sky when I was angry about something. At first, I wasn't aware that it was happening. In the middle of a heated groaning session about something President Donald Trump had said the day before (I don't remember what it was, but pick a day and there's bound to be something), a friend of mine asked, "Why are you shaking your fist at the sky?"
"Shaking my fist at the sky?" I innocently responded. "Pfft. I don't shake my fist at the sky. That's what old people do!"
Unfortunately, one can only ignore reality for so long. A few days later, I was thinking about something that President Trump had said the day before (I don't remember what it was, but I'm pretty sure that it was different from what I was angry about earlier - say what you want about him, but he knows how to mix up his outrages), and noticed that my fist was shaking at the sky.
"Whu - what are you doing up there?" I demanded. "You get down from there right now!"
My arm lowered, but I could tell it wasn't happy about my command. When, a few days after that, I found my fist defiantly shaking at the sky, I had to accept that it wasn't a matter of my will; it was age-related, and there was nothing to be done about it. Besides, the evidence of my impending senescence was inescapable.
I was peeing 12 times a day.
Okay, I drink a lot of water, so the bathroom and I are old friends. But, 12 times a day? Seriously? I started waking up in the middle of the night to go pee. That hadn't happened before I realized that I was almost 60 - if I could just have put off acknowledging that for a few more years!
I found myself staying at home on Friday night and binge watching The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt on Netflix. What an old person thing to do! Granted, when I was 12, I would stay at home on Friday night and read comic books. And, okay, yeah, if I am being honest, if there had been Netflix when I was younger, I probably would have stayed at home and binged watched whatever was on it.
Et tu, Kimmy?
I take some solace in the fact that I'm not binge watching Matlock or Murder, She Wrote. On the other hand, at least Jessica Fletcher would be age-appropriate...
Okay, okay. I think I may be starting to accept this whole about to turn 60 thing. For the past couple of years, I was often offered a senior's discount in restaurants. I would turn huffily indignant and assure the server that I was not old enough to merit the discount.
Oddly enough, the last few times I was at a restaurant and wasn't offered the senior's discount, I got huffily indignant and demanded to know why I was being discriminated against. The most recent time, I raised my fist to the air to emphasize the point.
I tell you, life gets old pretty fast.