I spent a decent portion of Sunday afternoon asleep in front of a fire with the television on. I’d like to think that this is because I’d been out for a twelve mile run that morning in the snow and was tired; I suspect that it was actually because I’m forty-one years old and because it was Sunday afternoon.
By the same token, there’s a chance that the increasing regularity with which I am completely forgetting people’s names is down the progression of my multiple sclerosis… but I also suspect that it’s more likely to be explained by the fact that I’m forty-one years old and this is just what happens.
I don’t hanker after a lost youth, In fact, I often tell people that I wouldn’t be seventeen again for all the money in the world. It’s easy to romanticise a time when you had your whole life in front of you and everything seemed possible, but let’s be honest, that was an awful, confusing time and it definitely didn't seem like a world of boundless possibilities when I was living it. I’d far rather be the age I am now, knowing the things that I know and being much, much more comfortable with who I am than to go through all that again. Although that’s not to say that I welcome the indignities of encroaching old age. They're just part of the package. Swings and roundabouts, I suppose.
Anyway, I quite like snoozing in front of a good fire with my slippers on and nowhere in particular to be.
I think retirement will suit me.
“Life was no longer something to endure, but to live. ”
― Hubert Selby Jr
I met a spaceman
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