Friday, August 24, 2007


I admit it. When I was young and strong of heart and lung I never dug old folks, their silly jokes, idiotic smiles, drooling lips and inane quips. I was smug. I knew senility would never take hold of me.

I would never dwell on ills, pills and doctor bills, morning chills, updated wills and bookkeeping skills my sleeping wife seems to lack. And I knew I would not be back to straighten up the mess my mate will make of our estate.

I would never be one of them. coughing, choking, smoking until that croaking moment rears its ugly head and they're dead. I always said, that's not for me. I'll still be myself at ninty-three.

I'll never complain of aches and pains or worry what's happening to my brain, face the fear of going insane. I know some oldtimers, even a few younger than I, get Alzheimer's disease, but that's not for me, thank you, please.

I took great pride in the vitality of my mentality, my common sense and intelligence. I knew some experts say all that won't delay decay of a brain on the wane, but I am no damn fool. I'll be the exception to the rule.

Some claim it's dementia, but whatever they name it, all it means is St. Pete sent word, like it or not, I'm on God's waiting list. One day when I least expect, I'll be next. I may have time to say goodbye before my soul soars in the sky on its way to Judgment Day. And I, my butt. my gut and big fat behind will all be left behind.


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