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Wednesday 1st February 2017.

I no longer have to scribble the word January for another year...it seems to be a month along with wrinkled stockings that i hear constant greetings of the Grim Reaper from people whom pass me by, they mention it as if buying a pair of socks.. adding so and so.... as they tell you the colour of such socks,i remember hearing little old ladies full of such chatter on the buses my youth carried me through, now here i am at that age myself my youth gone and i can no longer discard such utterings as nothing but hairy catterpillars on the march for toasted toadstools i once used to by day dreaming as the world passed beyond my bus seat window pushing the little old ladies words to the bottom of cornflake packets left on the bus seat...
Now i think Wow...not much time left for me to ride the bucket to utopia....better find some wooden spoons to spank the monkey, shy away from those whom love to dwell as living dolls in the obituary columns found in daily papers...
One such paper this morning shouted out loud in stark headlines that another Thatcher era is to begin...with a heavy sigh i bid the world a good night Take care all and hope the words are just good enough to wrap fish and chips in....So Goeth...


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Feb. 5th, 2017 06:55 am (UTC)
just a boo to let you know I passed this way. xoxox
Feb. 5th, 2017 02:10 pm (UTC)
Nice words, albeit on an un-nice subject -- aging! I too am getting long in the tooth. (Wonder where THAT odd expression comes from!)

I recently was found to be suffering from a disease of the elderly called "macular degeneration"... (Always wanted to be a degenerate -- now, alas, I'm succeeding!) The good news is that it is now treatable, and blindness isn't too much of a risk. The bad -- I had thought on hearing the diagnosis -- is that I'm certifiably an old fart. (Is "old fart" a usage on your side of the Pond?)

Ah, but there's a happy ending (or mid-point of the story, more cheerily). Namely, Joanne and I were leaving the eye-doctor's office, and we fell into conversation with a pretty girl (in her mid-30s, I'd judge) in a separate opthamologist's office.

Chatting, I allowed as how I'd just been diagnosed -- and she told us she too has the beginnings of "macular". (There's a genetic predisposition for it; indeed, my mom had it very late in her life.)

So I'm spared a need to feel sorry for my eroding self!

Edited at 2017-02-05 02:11 pm (UTC)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )



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