I Don’t Identify as OLD
never have, never will . . .
I’m the baby of nine. My lifelong identity.
In so many settings throughout my life, family, career, friends . . . I was the youngest person in my crowd.
Now I live in the Geezer Hotel and I swear, I’m the youngest one here. I’m younger in spirit by a lightyear.
My time in the joint has informed me of all the ways I do NOT want to grow old. First and foremost: avoid that incessant cherishing of one’s ailments.
The stark truth is, most seniors are bored shitless so they make a freakin’ career out of managing their ailments. It’s all about balancing pills and side effects, the diagnoses and appointments. Blah, blah, blah.
Such droning on of clinical gibberish makes up the entirety of conversation when one lives in an old folks’ home. Geezers must figure using all that medical jargon makes them sound smart. Showing off!
The most joyous seniors are those with a calendar full of medical appointments. They literally brag about how much they have to do each week. Purpose!
I haven’t been friendly these two years I’ve lived here because I simply do not see myself as belonging in this institutional dive full of derelict codgers. There’s nobody living in these…
