Middle-aged
Posted on | December 8, 2009 | 4 Comments
I am no longer a young man. I’ve been aware of this for some time but it is occasionally driven home to me.
Like now.
Two beery nights and I’m a floppy, husk of a man. Two nights with too little sleep and too much beer and I look like the long-dead corpse of a wizened nonagenarian who died from some sort of wasting, insomniac condition and was buried in a cardboard coffin, in a bog, for one hundred and forty-six years before being reanimated by some weird, zombification process involving sucking all fluids from the body and replacing them with Nutella and dust.
I feel almost exactly like that too.
It’s a young man’s game, this beering.
Comments
Gerry Hayes
I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.
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One could almost feel sorry for you.
Almost!?
almost
Fair enough.