Time Flies

Man, 2016 just flew by. It seems that the older I get, the faster time flies by, unless I’m listening to a horrible song on the radio, then three minutes feels like an eternity. “Why don’t you just change the station?” you ask. Easy for you to say because, well, if you speak English that’s a pretty easy sentence to say and now that you mention it I don’t know why I don’t just change, OH! Easy for you to say because you’re not paralyzed with pain by the horrendous song on the radio, that’s why!

But anyways, how messed up is it that as a kid time seems to drag on forever, except for summers, but as you get older it goes by faster? Shouldn’t it be the opposite, so that when you reach your golden years, time seems to slow to a crawl so it feels like you have more of it?

So to make the most of what time I have left, when I turned 50 I decided to “Do Something” every year from then on out. For my 50th year on earth it was “Get Used to Being 50.” At 51 I recorded a new, original one minute song every day from January 1st until December 31st and posted it to social media. At 52 I drank. At 53 I decided to “Get Published,” so after 364 days of diligently doing nothing to meet that goal, THANK YOU EL CHUQUENO! So now, at 54, I’ve been trying to decide what to do after “Writing 365 Original 60 Second Songs In 365 Days.” And yes, like Howard Walowitz coming back from space, it might be a while before I shut up about it.

I know resolutions are rarely kept so I didn’t want to go for some pie in the sky idea like, say, paint the house, but I think I will go for something equally ambitious.

For reasons I can’t recall, I started drinking a couple of beers with whiskey shots nightly. As a result, my high alcohol, low food diet kept me quite svelte the last 30 years but after The Black Poo Incident (I had internal bleeding), I discovered the joy of sweets and just haven’t had the energy I used to have, so I took one of those “Find Your Body Type” tests. You know the one…hourglass or pear shape? And my body type was “Broomstick with a Beach Ball Taped to It.” So I’m gonna try to get back to just “Broomstick.” And regain my memory.

Mary and the kids got me an iPod exercise arm band dealy and it took a week of exercise just to open it, so that’s a start, but I haven’t used it yet because I haven’t made the required Workout Playlist.

A while back I spent two hours chopping wood and realized I may be Workout Playlist dyslexic. Instead of Metallica or My Chemical Romance, for two hours the only songs in my head were “Be Near Me” by ABC and “I’m Mr. Heat Miser” by, um, Mr. Summer, I think.

I also stopped the nightly beer and whiskey routine, kinda, and it went swimmingly, if you consider waking up 1,000 times in six hours swimmingly. Now I remember why I started drinking in the first place, so it did help my memory.

Maybe I’ll start a sleep and memory workshop this coming year using my past and present experience. The first round will be on me.


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