Fifty, Fit, and Feeling Fine

I was fifty, fit, and feeling fine.  I was living in a most vivid season.  Extended adolescence, sure, but what was the point of anything, anyway?  Life was a cabaret.  I was foreman at the factory by day.  I was teaching classes at Country Club College at night.  Young women knocked on my door and asked me out.  Eyes would sparkle.  Hearts would flutter.  Oh, my. . . yes.  I was a miracle.  

Jesus. . . what happened?!?  

We all know what happens.  I'm still taking the antibiotics, still feeling very puny.  I'm no longer foreman nor am I teaching.  No women ask me out.  Miracles are an illusion.  There is no escaping the laws of nature.  

Why is the photo so bad?  That was my first digital camera.  I didn't know how to use it yet and had no skills in Photoshop.  That would come, but for the moment, most of my pictures looked much like that . 

Selavy.  

"But what the fuck is up with the skirt?"

It's not a skirt.  It's a pareo.  I was an adventurer.  I was exotic.  I drove an open air Jeep and lived a hero's life in mountains and jungles, on oceans and rivers. . . I was Tarzan, man.  

Ho!  

Now I limp and carry a dad gut.  I've lost interest in most travel.  I care for my mother.  

I shared my pareo.  

Now I have a difficult time securing a bath towel 'round my waist.  

I feel puny today, small and weak and listless.  It is fairly scary.  What happened to the flame?  Is the fire going out?  I'm not sure throwing more fuel on it will do any good.  

My mother is worried about me.  Funny turn.  So she made dinner for me last night.  It was my first real meal in a week.  We sat outside in the afternoon air, then went inside to eat.  Then we sat out some more.  I cleaned the kitchen and did some work on her computers, but around 6:30, I said I had to get home.  I wanted to watch the Kentucky Derby.  

Maybe I've gone senile, too.  I'd forgotten that I have cut the cable.  Shit, piss, fuck goddamn.  I went online to try to find a workaround.  None to be had, so I went to YouTube and searched for the race.  I found it.  Sort of.  The middle of the screen was blocked out.  Whoever was streaming it, probably someone in East Europe or Kenya, wanted me to go online and pay money to see the race.  Now I'm dumb, but. . . . 

So I really missed it. First time in my adult life, I think.  

Things fall apart.  Entropy is a universal law.

I was very sad.  I should have gone to a bar to watch it, but I can't drink right now and I don't have the energy for that.  

I have two favorite parts of the day now--morning coffee and nighttime Golden Milk before bed.  Isn't that something?  

Those years after my divorce were the most vivid time, and somehow, I thought it would last forever.  Perhaps it is tragic, really, to live so well so late.  Better to gradually descend than to step off the cliff.  

I'm bragging.  I'm whining.  Neither is attractive.  But a writer has to tell his truth no matter how ugly.  As he knows it.  

Whatever.  Even the Pope had his detractors.  Bill Belichick.  Woody Allen.  Johnny Depp.  

It is inevitable.  Somewhere, someone is criticizing you, too.  Glass house.  Stones.  

Outside the weather is gloomy.  Inside, too.  I don't feel like doing anything.  I'll make some oatmeal, I think.  Milk, peanut butter, and honey to make it lively.  It is nothing like gruel.  It is hearty.  

I should spend the day making selections for a website.  I don't know if I will ever take photos again, but if I do, a website would be helpful.  Surely I can pull out forty or so good pictures illustrating my photo diversity.  I should quit trying to overthink it.  

The day is dark.  The house is quiet.  Only you and my mother know my current plight.  I hide my bones from the rest.  

"Oh, boo-hoo.  You're so pathetic.  Nothing is wrong with you.  Shut the fuck up."

I would if I could.  I just don't think I can.  Maybe I've picked up the Trump syndrome.  

But you know, during it all, I was taking photos for a woman I couldn't have.  There is always something motivating action.  Here's a song from 1999.  It was the end of one thing and the beginning of another.  We live in eras, I guess.  It was to be quite an era.  

Many lives, many eras.  Ha!

Jesus!