Getting older

For a few years I've suspected I'm getting older. You would think the occasional birthdays might tip me off, or the steady retreat of what courageous hair I have left. No, it took a Crayola crayon in a Mexican restaurant to make me see clearly. Or rather, to make me realize that I wasn't.

Time for me to get my eyes checked (or maybe I'll wait until next year since our medical insurance is crap).

The experience was unique for me. If I held the crayon at about 14 inches from my eyes, the writing was clear. Farther away it was still clear. Move it to 13 inches, though, and suddenly it wobbled and weaved like some drug scene in a movie from the early seventies. Granted, it was about six point type, maybe smaller, but that was a rude moment for me, the guy with 20-20 vision and never a single cavity or broken bone. I tan good, too.

I've felt myself taking longer to get over the soreness of Sunday soccer games. But to have a body part actually start failing in its regular function, that's new to me. And I'm not even 40 yet.

Black truth at arm's length
"Amarillo" I think--yes
I was younger once