Boo!

Age creeped up on me at some point. When exactly, I'm not sure. But it did, and there's no slowing it down. It doesn't scare me, really. I knew it was coming. I knew I couldn't stop it. I'm not sure I even want to. It's just less fun. The older you get, the less spontaneous life is. It has to be if you're at all responsible for those around you. Too many committments. Too many meetings. Too many calendars and appointments and coming and going. Too many this and thats. I don't mind aging. I do mind aging without newness. It seems I worked most of my life to get to a point so I could do the things that I couldn't when I was young. Things I was told I was too young to try. Things I was told I couldn't handle yet. Things I was told I wasn't mature enough for. Places I couldn't go or see. People I couldn't hear or view. Experiences I couldn't taste. Now that I'm old enough to do anything I want, I'm just as unable but for so many other reasons. And that's a big saddening. Whether that's ironic or not, I don't know. I do know it leaves me a bit resentful. And hardened. And bitter. And bitter doesn't taste good ever.