If I go down to the other end of the house just one more time, and wonder when I get there why I went, I think I'll scream.
I'm simply not ready to get old. Not in that or any other way. But my body has notions of its own. Not only is my brain full, my joints are creaky. I would so rather have grey hair than grey joints.
It's a given that life ends, but nobody is anxious for it to happen to them. It's to be hoped I'm not all that close to the end, and I certainly intend to enjoy many more years, but death is a fact. Lest I seem too despondent, I have pretty good genes in that regard. If I haven't totally wrecked myself, I should be good for another 25 years or more.
But, you never know. And some days it seems like I'm on the slippery slope.
I need a good laugh. Where's BBT when you need it?