Recently I remarked that middle age meant uncertainty about whether one was becoming a grand old fart or a boring old fossil. And I now have reason to suspect that some of my friends, in an excess of compromise, would vote for "old farting fossil". Which to them, in their brash and giddy youthfulness, might seem the best of both worlds.
I am not pleased by this.
It is less than flattering.
There are times when I wish my friends would recognize what a stellar genius I am, my heavens the world has not seen anything like it, worship worship worship and express adulation, but in fact I am not a genius of any kind, nor have I actually accomplished anything earthshaking, and I've wasted quite a few years by not doing spectacular things.
Still, "farting old fossil" is not what I hoped for.
Not any one of those terms, I think.
Hardly a game plan.
I am young enough to pay it no mind. The child within may have died long ago, battered to death by the angry dolphin within rebelling at the coercion of societal norms, but there is no existenzangst or selbstzweifel.
Anyone can be king of their own dysfunktionalität.
[Especially if they know some German words.]
AUF EINEM TAG DER RUHE
I've got pipe tobacco and hot coffee. The apartment is quiet, as my apartment mate has gone off to work. And I may get a haircut today. Besides a lunch of dimsum or roast meats over rice, I have little else planned for my weekend. I might do laundry, or I might not.
Perhaps I will channel for a badger or a toad.
Later I will browse wikipedia entries.
For things I did not know.
Caffeinated beverages. Smoking. Reading. A nice warm bath. Tasty things to eat. Enjoy the sunlight. Listen in on the humans. Sometimes make sneering or chortling sounds as appropriate.
Postpone growing up.
Be a fearsome forest critter.
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