Did You Think I Was Old? Not Me!

When did an old person ever collect puppets for amusement and magic?

When did an old person get so self-absorbed playing that her son disowned her? (Hope I’m smarter than that when I get old).

When did an old person collect pieces of lightning and pretend they were dog turds? (I should hope not).

When did an old person ever sneak in the cookie jar and empty it? (Surely not!)

When did an old person pout because it was raining, and sing Rain Rain Go Away?

When did an old person ever hang up their stocking on Christmas Eve? And GET something!

When did an old person ever go chasing rainbows?

When did an old person ever prefer Raggedy Ann to Barbie?

When did an old person avoid looking in the mirror?

When did an old person who wouldn’t look in he mirror say “I’m not old?”                                               SEE?  I’m NOT!

About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
This entry was posted in A mixed bag, age and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Did You Think I Was Old? Not Me!

  1. bethanyk says:

    We are young at heart and always will be!

    Liked by 1 person

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