Time Waits for Gnome Ann, But Not For Me

by Your Evil Auntie

Someone with whom I’m acquainted online bemoaned the fact that they were about to turn 50, so they were, as they saw it, at the threshold of Death’s heavy iron-strapped wooden door.

Oh woe, oh woe! Rending of garments and pulling out of hair! Get thee gone, cruel eld!

Whippersnapper.

I hit 60 this next month, which really isn’t very old at all, but I’ve started thinking about how many more mirthdays there will be after that. I can’t really use my birthparents as suggestions, as my birthfather passed at about 56 from smoking-induced congestive heart failure and my birthmother at 77 from what was probably COVID, in very early 2020.

My back hurts most of the time, I’ve got arthritis in my hands, knees, and hips, one repaired torn rotator cuff, another that will need a repair at some point in the future, and the various other maladies that eventually find us, even when we do our damndest to win the game of Hide and Seek that comes with the natural process of aging.

So, who knows what the future holds for me, I’ve still got both hands on life and I have absolutely no intention to letting go of it.

And I’m throwing myself one HELL of a mirthday party next month, especially as it falls on a Friday this year!

The XKCD reference you may not be getting from the headline…