The Same Old...

It's frustrating how we change as we age. It's not the physical part that I'm talking about though. Everyone's bodies change as they age. I'm talking about upstairs. The brain cells that used to collaborate to help me appear intelligent no longer seem to give a shit about each other.

There was a period of time in my life when I really enjoyed writing. The words flowed easily, and thoughts came across quickly and effortlessly. I had a dry wit that would occasionally shine when I told a story. Those were apparently my blogging years. When I try to describe something now the words just don't behave. Even when I have all the information still fresh in my mind, but I can't seem to wrench it out without mucking it up somehow. Even now I'm struggling with what I'm trying to say. I guess it's fair to say my blog posts--however sporadic they may appear--have turned south on me. I used to like what I wrote but not any longer. I look at what I post a day or so later and shrug my shoulders, thinking, "Damn, that's not worth a shit. At least I got the point across. I think..."

Lately, it's more like I assemble a bunch of loose descriptions, sentences, and other portions of my tale that I want included--sort of like an outline. Then I will spend a bunch of time rearranging them to make some sort of cohesive-looking story out of them. What I end up with never seems to satisfy me, but I post it anyway. Sigh.

Am I just being too critical?

When I started thinking about this post I had several references to aging that I was going to mention. Do I remember all of them? No. I do remember thinking that perhaps I've gotten to that age I remember associating my grandpa with when I was younger. That age when he was perfectly happy to putter in his shop or watch western movies on TV. I don't know anything about current music or musicians, nor do I care to. I have a cell phone out of necessity--not because I like paying 600+ dollars for a fucking shrunken computer that fits in a pocket and just happens to make phone calls too. (Don't even get me started on that one.) I drive predictably and cautiously--something I didn't do all that often when I was younger. I go to bed almost the same time every night, whether I need to get up at a specific time the next morning or not. My eyes seem to fail at that time every evening. I don't spend time reading anything anymore. Even if I try, I find my mind wandering. I struggle even making it through a monthly Costco ad when it shows up in the mailbox. I dunno. I'm still holding onto many of my loves, but I find myself not really caring about them as passionately as I once did. I think nowadays I'm more interested in immediate sensory input than being on the move, but even that's failing me. Tastes and smells are still waning. I make slower, more deliberate moves every time I do things. My patience level has gotten worlds better, though. That's something.

My world is now much smaller than it once was. I used to love being "out there" and sharing stuff with the world. Now I love being home, and being with my wife and our two critters. If being old means being simple, that's okay by me.

I like things simple now.