I have never really got the whole 'I'm Getting Old Thing'. But recently the thought of it has come to my attention. Particularly this past week. On January 11 to be exact.
I have never really been one to count the years. Until this month. Until one day I was sitting here at my usual post guarding the couch and I mumbled to myself, 'You will be 50 years old in One Year and 13 Days From Now'.
Wait a minute...what? ...when did this start? After giving it some thought, I went back to my 17th birthday when I proclaimed that I was 19 years old. Who was to know? When I was 18, I proclaimed again that I was 19. And of course when I was 19 what else was I supposed to do? But it didn't stop there. I stayed 19 for a few more years. Eventually I stopped all that and I just quit celebrating the birthdays. And as strange as it might seem -- whenever somebody asks me how old I am -- I have to do the math. Okay...I was born in 61. What year is it?
It never did occur to me that I would one day be this person who would count his days. Never. And yet, the signs were there. Like a few years ago when I casually mentioned to the Human Resource person while we were talking, "Yeah, and by the way...Will you please not post my birthdays in the newsletter any more". Or, when I started to take my birthdays off when I had to work. I would wait until we posted the yearly calendar and then I would schedule to take that day off. I don't know when any of this happened, perhaps one day I just woke up and there was Father Time peering over my shoulder.
Oddly enough it has bothered me. Somehow I have let the passage of time sneak up on me and stab me in the back. And the thing is: I'm not yet 49. These days the hour glass seems more precarious and I'm prone to unscrew one end and add more sand. If only I could figure out how to get the damned cap off.
(After reading this post 24 hours later, my wife just pointed out that I'm only 47. Yesterday we both thought I was 48. Now I'm really confused.)