Mundane Turbulence

You know that feeling you get, where you wake up at 5:00 in the morning, and you feel like someone’s crammed a fork down your throat, punched you in your open eyes repeatedly, and then you wander out into your living room and see the band Select Start sleeping there?

Yeah, that’s how I’m feeling. Maybe that’s too specific to be generalized, but hey…I guess that’s what blogs are for. Which has just now become a song set to the tune of That’s What Friends Are For in my head. Anyway, I think I’ve come to a startling realization: I must be allergic to something. I don’t know if it was something I ate last night (it was the old goto of Indian food — how could it have steered me wrong??), or if some mold of death, like so many sleeping pill moths, came into my room while I slept last night, but it is terrible. I’ve never been allergic to anything, and ya’know…that’s always given me some sense of invulnerability.

So…apparently I’m getting old, then? A team of experts has created a composite image of how I will almost certainly appear in old age:

Yup…doomed to sing songs of the fifties. A fate worse than death?

I’ve always felt I was sort of well-suited for aging, since I’ve generally already got the curmudgeony attitude down, but is it possible that there’s more to being old than yelling at young punks to get off your lawn? Is it possible that I can’t even handle the vaguest experiential allusion to post-youth?

Also, my neck hurts. And throughout the entire week, I thought that I was a day ahead of the actual day…which is pretty sad, because Memorial Day made this a particularly short week. This is a pathetic entry! I should of course say that clearly I’m usually a spry kinda guy…but today I feels like not so good very much.

Oh, and uh…happy 46th birthday, Mom! *ahem*

Thank baby Jesus in Heaven that at least the Manilow made an appearance.