Sometimes I feel my age.
It’s all the brain really, in the little Poirotien grey cells. It’s not about senior moments and little accidents (cats get them too) it’s about the relevance of things to my daily life. My response to tragedy is no longer an impassioned howl to the heavens on the bloody blatant injustice of it all, but rather a semi-guilty sadness that such things could be.
I only have to momentarily raise my head from my sheepskin cuddle blanket to see what’s what. Yep, the world has gone crazy. Wars and disasters, fire, flood and drought, tigers will be extinct by 2012 and I’m spending more time traveling to the Vet than meditating in my nap basket.
A mere couple of years back I would have been spitting at the cosmic injustice of it all! Now I don’t worry about these things as much as I used to.
Am I growing callous and and uncaring? Is this a sign I’m on the way out? Is this encroaching senility ? But wait, the worst is yet to come…..
Yesterday I had a driving compulsion to chat about my various surgical experiences to a passing possum.