GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #617: AN UNEXPECTED PART OF GETTING OLD

 I've been told all my life about what it's like to get old, and almost all of it has come true. I say almost because I don't have hair growing in my ears. My nose? Sure. I've been trimming nose hairs for many years now. Just nothing in my ears. Yet.

Here's one thing that no one told me about. I did not expect to have to start trimming my eyebrows. I've been told, in fact, the opposite. That my eyebrow hair would thin. I really hoped that wouldn't happen because, well, look at this.

A little freaky, no?

My eyebrows aren't too bad. The problem is with single strands getting ridiculously long. The other day I noticed that one had somehow managed to get halfway up to my hairline. No one mentioned it to me.

I always kind of wondered what it was about not having eyebrows that makes people look odd. Then, a few years back, I heard an FBI interrogator talking about how psycho- and sociopaths tend not to use their eyebrows in their expressions. He mentioned that at a subconscious level eyebrow expressions endear people to one another. It sounds a little crazy until someone starts talking with you, and you notice that they never move their eyebrows. So I think he might be right. People who don't have eyebrows subconsciously give off a vibe that they're not to be trusted.

Maybe I'm talking out my ass. I don't know. But no one ever told me I'd have to trim these fuckers or look like a beast.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #589: PAIN NEVER GOES AWAY

 Pain has been on my mind a lot lately. Not only is there the constant pain of my bad left foot, but now I'm discovering the pain of getting old. I thought I already had, but it's on a new level now.

And this pain doesn't go away.

Drinking always took the pain away. As good as quitting booze has been for me, I sometimes curse the day that I stopped drinking. If I had some whiskey right now, I wouldn't be thinking about this fucking pain. I wouldn't feel it, or at least it would be so far away that it wouldn't be worth noticing.

All my joints are fucked. My right knee wants to complain every time I move the fucking thing. My tennis elbow is still killing me. My wrists are constantly bitching at me, and only one of them has any reason to. (I'm looking at you, Leftie. Jerking off didn't take too long today. What gives?) And now it feels like two of my fingers on my right hand are dislocated. I know they're not, but neither of them feel connected at the mid knuckle. Every time I flex them I feel them pop like they're almost about to get back into place but never do.

The only way I can stand is by groaning and cursing. When I stand at work, I keep my mouth shut, but I hobble for the first few steps.

Getting old sucks. 0/10. Would not recommend.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #82: GETTING OLD

I'm thirty-six years old now, and I'm doing much better than I thought I would when I was younger, at least when it comes to appearance. I'm sure younger me would not appreciate the pounds I've put on since then, but younger me also thought I'd be bald and toothless by now. (I've always had bad teeth, and my grandfather went bald by the time he was in his early twenties, so I figured that would happen to me, too.)


I only lost the one tooth, which is an implant now. And my hair is just as thick as it was back then. I might have the 'Beetus and a bunch of other health problems, but at least I look fairly decent, and I carry my fat pretty well. Back when I weighed 306 lbs., no one would believe me when I told them that's what I weighed. So I've got a good frame for that.


All in all, not bad for a guy who thought he was going to be dead of a heart attack by 40. I won't get ahead of myself, though. An early death is still in the cards (thanks a lot, pancreas), although as I get closer to 40, the idea is no longer quite as appetizing as it once was. Plus, I have a lot more to live for now, considering how my writing career is finally starting to get some attention.


A while ago, I discovered a couple of gray chest hairs. Then, I found a gray hair on each of my sideburns. Now, my right sideburn is rapidly going gray. So I can only assume when I grow my beard for the winter, it might not be as dark as it usually is. I'm OK with that, because it looks like my hair is going to go gray in a very cool Nick Fury-ish kind of way. It worked very well for Bruce Campbell on BURN NOTICE. So yeah, I should be good on that front.


But . . . the middle finger of my left hand has been killing me the past couple of days. It makes typing very difficult, although aspirin seems to help for a short while. I feel the pain deep down in the bone and at the joints. I'm starting to wonder if I might have a touch of arthritis developing there. I guess it would serve me right, since I've been cracking my knuckles since I was in elementary school. It's kind of funny. Every time I did that, Mom would yell at me that I would get arthritis if I kept that up. It's even funnier because I developed this bad habit after watching her do it several times a day.


Well, hopefully I'm just being paranoid. If I'm not, well, thankfully it's on my left hand. I'm right-handed, and that one's doing fine.


Getting old sucks. Maybe LOGAN'S RUN had it right.