Little things are starting to bother me, perhaps because I’m getting old. I’m fairly sure I’m 55, which I’ve learned is the age men start waking up fourteen times a night to trickle.
I heard younger people say as you get older you stop sweating the small stuff, but I see no sign of that happening to me. I’m Irish, so I’m going down fighting – even if I don’t know who I’m fighting.
Yes, despite my relatively young old age, I’ve already been blessed by the realization that anger for anger’s sake is the purest form of emotion and the best way to confront my inevitable dance with death. Being so, I plan to withhold my maximum wrath for any member of the medical profession who tells me there’s something growing inside my body that is “the size of a cantaloupe…”
Right now, if pushed, I’d say I’m just entering the everybody-is-an-asshole phase of “aggressive aging.” This means I tell telemarketers to “fuck off” before they say “hello” and while shopping I’m often overcome by the need to punch a random millennial in the face. Luckily, I’m not as angry as John McCain – yet. But, as I get older, I’m looking forward to getting all revved up about killing Syrians and other people that live very far away. Currently, I’m trying to hate Brazilians because they comprise the local help, but it’s not working. Worse case, I can delude myself that my Brazilian cleaning lady is stealing my shit, but unfortunately I’m cognizant enough to realize I’m actually losing my shit. Fortunately, with time, I know this will change. Eventually I’m certain I will be able to convince myself Brazilians caused the Holocaust, the Area 51 coverup, and the 1929 stock market crash. Knowing this, while writing this blog I’m simultaneously practicing spittle-cursing the word, “Brazilians!”
Yup, I’m getting seriously old. And to be honest, the anticipation of further aging is killing me. So, much to look forward to…a face that looks like a meatball pizza due to basil cell carcinoma, regurgitating half a Thanksgiving meal on to my holiday sweater, and consistently smelling like a box of kitty litter… I can’t wait…
Jesus, I just realized I’m an author. Damn, imagine what aging is going to do to my already incoherent books…
Oh well, so much to do and so little time… Item one on my bucket list…a trip to the shoe store to buy some steel-tipped boots so I can kick stuff without hurting my feet… 
W4$
