On turning 60

Well, here it is. Another tenth-century of my life has passed. The earlier decade turns weren't all that bad; in fact, I wondered why people made such a kerfluffle about them. Waking up on the Big Day as age 30, say, or 40 even, wasn't such a big deal, didn't feel any different than 29 or 39.

The half-century mark was a bit discomforting, but not enough to knock me off my more or less even keel. Gray hair? I've had it since my 30s anyway, and now that the whole front half of the mop has silvered, it's such a pure white it's kind of cool actually. Health? Pretty good, all in all; no major worries. Life circumstances comfortable if not opulent, and no major regrets.

But today I am 60. Today I mark the day by going to have a Holter monitor applied for a 24-hour wearing to see why my premature ventricular contractions have been kicking up lately.* Today I feel arthritic twinges in my fingers. Today my knees remind me that they haven't forgiven me for the stress I've placed on them over the course of time. Today I contemplate the physique toting the mind around and ruefully concede that, no matter how many more pounds I patiently, ploddingly melt off, I will never, ever have back the figure of my youth. Or get rid of the old-person's neck.

Now, it's still not a bad life I've got going here. Other than the current internal fuss, my health overall remains good. Both sides of my family tree have demonstrated longevity. I have good friends, dear critter companions, and a satisfying daily round. My self-employment should be sufficiently recessionproof that my income and home won't be seriously threatened. All in all, I could be a helluva lot worse off.

Still............... FRAKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!! I'M FRAKKIN 60!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



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*Odds are, it's a hiatal hernia which is gigging the vagal nerve which is triggering the PVCs -- bothersome, annoying, and at times downright uncomfortable but not lethal. Still, not good.