It's Official- I'm a Senior Citizen (aka Old Fart)

 Well, I've made it to that magical age of 65. I wasn't sure it would ever happen. When I was younger I would pray that the good Lord would allow me to live long enough to get my youngest children through high school. I figured after that point they would be able to get along well enough to start getting established in life. Now they're in the their thirties, so my prayers were answered. When I was a young man, sixty five seemed far away, now it seems that seventy is rushing up to meet me. I've often heard it said, and I've said myself on more than one occasion, that getting old isn't for wimps. No truer words were ever spoken. It's hard work. All the things you used to take for granted when you were young stay behind as you age. I went into the bathroom today to take a shower and was a little taken aback by the old man that was looking back at me in the mirror. My gut is out of proportion to the rest of my body and I've got boobs.  I look like a Picasso drawing  of a person with a bowling ball stomach supported by two toothpicks for legs. Judas Priest! I was wondering if they make training bras in size 44 A. I feel like I could be a candidate for a "Manzierre" or a  "Bro" as was discussed on one episode of Seinfeld when George's father took off his shirt in front of Cramer.  My son's think dealing with the weight is a simple matter of exercising. If only I could. They can't begin to understand that when arthritis sets in to the knee joints and back, just getting out of the easy chair almost takes an act of congress. Of course I could stop eating so much, or at least eat more practically, but at some point you start to realize that there isn't a whole lot else that you can do in life that can bring as much pleasure so you indulge yourself. Then there is the hair thing. To the best of my knowledge baldness has never run in my family, however, I've noticed a distinct thinning of my hair. Every day when I finish my shower I notice a little wad of hair congregating in the bathtub drain. When I run the brush through my hair it's like wind through a fence row. If only the hair on my head would grow like that which sprouts from my ears and eyebrows. If I could grow cauliflower like ear hair I'd be the vegetable king of Hoonah. I had often heard that some folks had problems sleeping as they age. I can certainly attest to that. Part of it is no doubt because of the excess weight I'm packing around, part is the pain in my back and legs and part is having to get up several times a night to pee. As the saying goes, there is no rest for the wicked. For the past six months leading up to my sixty fifth birthday, I've been inundated with all manner of literature speaking of the need for me to get ready for Medicare and all that that entails. I'd love to have the money that AARP has spent on literature informing us old folks about health care. I could retire in comfort and afford the same health care that congress gives themselves. You would think that after living sixty five years you'd be given a little break, but noooooo... the government has other plans. They give you  a few months to apply for medicare in all of it's many forms, and depending on who you listen to you also need to have supplemental insurance and insurance for long term health care and God knows what else. I find it all very confusing. You'd think you'd be allowed to grow old in peace, but it's not to be. One of the boys called to wish me a happy birthday  and mentioned that sixty five isn't that old. Perhaps not compared to  Methuselah, but I've  noticed that only two groups of people think sixty five isn't old. Those who have yet to experience it, and those to whom sixty five is a distant memory. In any event, I've made it to this milestone, hallelujah!