...I don’t know the answer to that question/ Where’s the look? if I knew I would tell you....
I'm not a big fan of the space/time continum.
That is to say, I question its validity.
My knees tell me that I am old, but I don't believe it. My face doesn't show it. Only the ages of my children give me away.
And on a day like today, when I am topless, footloose and panty-free, with the sun gleaming on my shoulders, I wonder whether I can give creedence to the concept of a mono-directional timeline.
The calander says October. I seem to still be in Baltimore.
It's fishy, is all I'm saying.
(The Look of Love; ABC)
4 comments:
I got carded a week ago buying cigarettes, and it's not uncommon to be challenged when I buy beer. My oldest is approaching the end of his stay in high school, yet I would swear I haven't been out of high school for more than five years, despite the date on my high school diploma. I have no grey hairs on my head (although some are in my beard now), and there's very damn little I can't do now that I could do twenty years ago.
Age is irrelevant unless you are a cheese.
I plead guilty to being cheese.
I'm the same way, Cyb. I feel eighteen, pretty constantly. Some days I feel even younger -- maybe twelve, or something. When someone says 20 years have passed since I graduated, or damn near, there's a major disconnect: no, that's not the least bit possible. And yet, I suppose it must be.
I get the feeling people are just generally LESS OLD then the people of comparable ages from a generation back, no?
Jon, when the 40+ set is wearing Pooh and Spongebob on their sweatshirts, and going to work in them, I'd have to say, yeah, we're less old than our grandparents were at the same age.
(I trust you followed that.)
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