I’m getting old, but then so are you.

You might notice this more and more now.

For five seconds just now I thought assumed I was 28. And then for five seconds after that I corrected myself and thought I was 22. I’m 23.

Memory- it’s starting to slip. I, my friends, am getting old. But then, so are you, but don’t then say that we all are because there is a difference in the ‘getting old’ of those aged 21 upwards and the ‘growing-up’ on all those aged under. Also, I know a lot of you will say that 23 is the prime of existence, but don’t say that to a 21 year old. They’ll laugh, in which case you might as well do it as everybody needs a laugh here and there. Unless that 21 year old’s being sardonic. Fuck that sardonic 21 year old and keeps your opinions on the yearly prime of life to yourself. Damn, I really hate that guy now.

And that’s another thing. Hate. Gosh- it really is easy now. Getting up in the morning and achieving some really high-levels of hate and expressing them, particularly whilst waiting, can happen all of a sudden and make you feel…oh so…’oh so’. I find that lately, for some reason, I’ve found my hatred of 21 year olds to have reached a peak, and taking the time to grumble and groan about them is a pleasure to share with those kind enough to be within earshot.

About a week ago I made my way into a movie theatre to watch ‘Gangster Squad’. Admittedly, I did enter with the express intention of eating some cereal and going to sleep and so, therefore, I did. This had an interesting effect on my opinions of the rest of the audience as, pre-sleep, I felt almost obliged to take their anonymity for granted in that I gave no fucks as to whether or not I snored whilst Sean Penn sneered (now that’s method acting- he sure knows his Hebrews), and then post-sleep I felt concerned that they had all been so near me as I unwittingly left my mouth open. I asked my fiancé, she denied any involvement.

What I’m getting at with that particular anecdote is that- I must really be getting old. I used to watch the sleeping elderly during the more boring of the films I endured. Now, I am of their flock.

However, it did make the movie that much better: setting, problem, climax and the conclusion equals a far superior way to view a shite movie. I recommend it (bring a mouth-guard for your waking ego.

Plus my memory’s getting bad.

Two more things before I head for an early night (because now I just love horizontality), and they are both concerning my body (literally, and, forgive me)

Number one: my beard. So far we have had single hairs of blonde, red, ginger, black and now grey. I’m a natural brunette. I’m 23.

That fury against 21 year olds is simmering up again so I’ll hurry along now to number two: metabolism.

Getting up and about is not a matter of sheer, thoughtless ease evolving into joy at the speed of sound. Now, I eat a biscuit, and I swear I can see the exact weight and diameter of that biscuit shining out of my stomach. I guess I need to have more of every activity I am not offered, get some sex done, dance, beat the shit out of something daily. Wholesome, natural, fun you use your hands for. I’m sure that’ll help and I recommend it to all. Apart from 21 year olds.

Not sure if I’ve mentioned this yet, but my memory’s getting worse too. But one more thing; since when was 1983 30 years ago?!

All the best of good wishes,

Sam.

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