I am feeling the tug of old age
Prufrock measured his life in coffee spoons. I seem to be measuring mine in glucose sensors. All the music I grew up with makes me cry to hear. It’s the void slip of feeling, the sinkhole of reflecting on time’s relentless passing, that happens when I look at an album’s release date and it tells me 2016, 2005, 1994…the weight of the years doesn’t bear down, it pulls my stomach from me, causes me to catch my breath as though realizing finally I’m atop a pointed edge that is shooting for the sky and growing thinner and thinner still. Vertigo induced by reminiscence. My daughter graduated high school. All I could see was her gap-toothed child’s smile scoring goals in kindergarten soccer. The void slip of time. A life propelling onward where nothing but nothing can be taken back or changed undone rewound ever forever. Children, children, listen to your music. Let music become you while you can. I have never felt old and that has made me feel weird and probably come off as weird to others who expect me to act me age. But my age just makes me tired and afraid to surrender to my memories in music. I don’t want to act an age. I want to live free of the void slip yet it plagues me at every turn: 2019, 2008, 1999, 1991…Roy Batty, John Doe, Yours Truly, and yes, even you, Constant Reader…tears in rain. Tears in rain. Growing old. Growing old. Wearing the bottoms of our trousers rolled…