Monday, March 05, 2012

Cresting The Brow Of The Hill

It is with a sense of low level panic that I write this post. A slow sense of dread has been creeping up on me of late. I’m not sure why it’s slow or even creeping because I can’t run that fast anymore and I’m sure my hearing is going.

Mortality is starting to fart its stale odour into my face.

I’m starting to feel old and, worse, see the traditional effects of old age start to work on me. I feel like a chalk cliff who knows that the waves pounding at its base aren’t going to go anywhere and are going to stay there for the long haul and keep grinding away until all that is left of me is a little tiny nub that not even my totally utilitarian Maths teacher would use to write out a quadratic equation.

Let’s look at the evidence.

My sleep pattern has completely changed in a matter of years. Gone are the halcyon nights when I’d put my head down and be out for the count for a good 8 hours+, all the way through, not a peep out of me until morning. Now I wake several times a night, more often than not with a bladder that is not exactly bursting but nonetheless refuses to hold onto its minute charge.

My back twinges when I do physical activity and twinges when I don’t. I’m terrified my spine is going to do a 911 – only without the unwanted intervention of a couple of passenger jets.

Food. Food is becoming a problem. Should I be faced with an all-you-can-eat buffet now I’d probably turn my nose up at half of it. Bacon gives me painful wind. Certain beans appear to want to pummel my duodenum as they pass through it. Mixing 2 types of meat within 24 hours seems to recreate the Clash of the Titans in my gut and onions (which I love) guarantee that any waste material will soon be motoring out of my sphincter like money out of my bank account. Yes. That fast.

Mere years ago I could eat anything. Anything at all. I had the constitution of a ox. Give me another couple of years and I’ll be wanting all of my food mashed and will swap a knife and fork for a straw.

And don’t get me started on my eyesight. I know I wear glasses so have problems anyway... but bloody hell. Subtitles need to be big print. Any kind of electronic text on the telly – Ceefax (does that still exist?), digibox menus, etc – seems to blur and morph like the word verification most of you guys use on your blogs. And don’t get me started on the back of DVD boxes. Most of the time all I want to find is the running time before I choose to watch something (‘cos I like to be curled up bed with a large print book by 9.30) but (a) I can never find it and (b) when someone points out its location the print is too small for me to read. Too small! And bringing the box closer to my eyes only makes it worse! I’m supposed to be short-sighted, for Heaven’s sake!

And yet, the one positive through all this is that I don’t look old. I don’t look 42. I look ten years younger. Clean and healthy living, see?

But what good is this if I’m wearing out fast on the inside?

I don’t want to be the best looking bloke in the care home!

There are only so many bed baths a day that a good looking guy can take...



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24 comments:

Gorilla Bananas said...

You know what you need? A role model that befits your time of life. Someone distinguished and mannerly, with a taste for good old-fashioned food that doesn't give him gas. It's got to be Colonel Sanders. Do you have a white suit?

Nana Go-Go said...

Oh dear! Dem ole Cosmic post-40 Blues are kicking in! On the other hand, don't be so bloody ridiculous, you've got loads of mileage left in you yet. Get some Horlicks, bend your knees when you do any heavy lifting,stay away from pigs and root vegetables and get a pair of beer bottle bottoms for reading small print and stop licking mirrors as you go past them. See, it's not ALL bad The Mortality Game, is it?

misssy m said...

hey Steve, you know what'll make you feel better?

"Phwoar!!!" *wolf whistle*

(Us 42 year olds - we gotta stick together)

Kelloggsville said...

wey hey - welcome to the club. You are officially passing the entrance exam and it's quite a laugh really - once you are over the physical you fallng apart bit. I bought my first pair of reading glasses 3 weeks ago (I wear contacts already!) and I realised yesterday that 45 minutes of an hours conversation with a friend revolved around the digestive system and bowel movements - rock and roll!

Steve said...

Gorilla Bananas: thank God. I thought you might suggest Lionel Blair.

Nana Go-Go: stay away from pigs and root vegetables? Guess I'll be staying in on Saturday nights from here on in, then.

Misssy M: letch! ;-)

Kelloggsville: I've always fancied some bifocals...

Marginalia said...

Oh I don't know. Bed bath can be fun!

Getting the young nurse to play hunt the flannel.

Steve said...

Marginalia: as long as it's not the nurse with the big moustache and the hook hand...

Being Me said...

So when can we start calling you Gerry Hatrick? Or has that time passed already? Like last night's onions?

Steve said...

Being: wha? Whatyousay? You young whippersnapper! No respect for your elders... that's the trouble with you young uns these days!

Suburbia said...

Join the club! Depressing isn't it?!

Steve said...

Suburbia: at least there isn't a membership fee...

the fly in the web said...

You missed out on a bit of depravity in my view.
Does wonders when you can remember it.

Steve said...

The fly in the web: thank God for online shopping. It means I can get all the depravity I need without leaving the house.

Clippy Mat said...

you're just a whippersnapper. i've got a few (!) years on you and i don't feel ANY of those things yet!
that i can remember anyway.

Steve said...

Clippy Mat: can I please be prescribed the same medication that you're on?

The Sagittarian said...

I hear you loud and clear (which is also great!)...

Steve said...

Amanda: can I borrow your hearing aid?

Trish @ Mums Gone To... said...

You need varifocals. I have them. I too am creaking but I do look gorgeous in soft focus.

Very Bored in Catalunya said...

I have been falling apart for a few years now, I keep fighting it but one day I guess I shall just learn to accept that I really am this old and my twenties are way behind me.

Steve said...

Trish: you look good through a pair of binoculars too... damn! I wasn't supposed to mention that!

Very Bored in Catalunya: twenties? I feel like my thirties are way behind me!

la mujer libre said...

Hahahahahaha. I've rolfed around reading this - and cried out "omg this guy has my dread disease! See I am not the only one! I am not odd" to my ancient husband (who told me I was mad and odd).
Cos I hit 45 this year. Oh fuc*. 45. Forteeeee-Five.
I FEEl like a 20yr old. I go to the pub (ignoring my husbands comments that it is "undignified") with my 22yr old daughter and 19 yr old son. (they complain too - but I've always thought it was a bad thing to listen to ones children). I go to gigs. My daughter steals my clothes (but looks better in them - bitch). I still have three other young wains to help me pretend to be a younger mum who had a bad newspaper round...
Nah. None of it works. My joints are weary. I don't sleep. My bowels have become the refuse chutes from hell. Alcohol causes 48 hour hangovers.
And worse. 45 SOUNDS old - even to me.
I need to grow-up. Bah.

Steve said...

la mujer libre: 48 hours hangovers? That would only be fair if you didn't have to sober up for the same amount of time. At least you can still get out to pubs and gigs. The bus drivers won't take me into town here because I refuse to travel without my walking stick and my whippet.

Suzanne said...

42? I thought you were the same age as me (older than 42 :-)) now you have just made me feel even older. The eyesight thing is not good and is the one thing, as an artist, that I have noticed is declining in me. Boo hiss.

Steve said...

Suzanne: apparently it's the forties when it hits for everybody... there's no escaping it.