Not Ready to Go

  As I wake up and get out of my bed, my feet my ankles, my knees all pop.   It does not hurt, and as long as I can remember they have always done this.   I walk downstairs, pop pop pop and then it stops.

  I look at myself reflected back at me in the bathroom mirror.   I look exactly the same as I did yesterday, the day before, the year before.   In fact, I can not tell any difference at all in my appearance in the last 20 or so years.   My hair gets long, I cut it off.  Sometimes my face gets puffy and then I lose weight again.   There is gray hair now, and more hair where I don't want it and less where I do, but it all seems very subtle to me and the face I see looking at me still looks young, and I mean 20-something-young.  I am 40 though.  I'm 40.   Is my skin starting to sag on my chin?   I don't look wrinkly.   I don't think I do, anyway.   I look away and then look back, trying to pretend I am a stranger looking at myself for the first time.    I still don't look old.   I don't look like a 40 year old.    I do not feel like one.    I need to do something with my hair though, it is getting long again, getting puffy.  I consider a mohawk.  It seems like the natural thing for me to do, what I usually do, a normal step in the life cycle of my hair.    Now I have to ask myself though : Am I TRYING to act young?  Appear young?    I am 40.   A mohawk?   Really?     When did this become pathetic?    Where have I been all this time?

   I get dressed, I go for a run.   I run more than I ever have in my whole life, doesn't that count for something?    Am I in shape at all?   I could stand to lose another 10 pounds or so, but when I was 25, I needed to lose 60 or 70 pounds.   Aren't I BETTER than I was?     Am I?   

   I get back from my run and sit at my desk.    I look at my hands.    They look young.    They have a lot of scars on them, but my fingers look puffy and pink, the fingers of a child.   I concentrate on my hands.   I make fists, first with my left hand and then my right one.  I clench hard,  my wrists are sore, I do not know why.   My hands feel tight, sore.    Is this arthritis settling in?    Is it?    Sudden-like?     What should I do?  

    What should I do?     Am I supposed to give in?    Do I start buying my clothes off a rack at Target, sensible clothes, cheap clothes?     Should I just let my hair grow out, should I stop caring?    This is my big question : Should I stop caring?   Should I give in?    This is what I have thought for the longest time:   People do not actually grow old,  but they give up one day and THEN they grow old.   If you hang on, are aware of your style, of music, stay fit and healthy, you will never grow old or appear old to anyone over the age of fifteen.    You must work at it, and you can not give up!   BUT,  I begin to get tired, and am starting to feel downtrodden.   It is getting to be WORK, and I do not know what the payoff is anymore.   I am always alone anyway.    What is the sound of a tree falling in the forest if nobody is there to hear it?   How does it go?    Do I just give up?    Is that the sensible thing,  is that the dignified choice?   Do I care about dignity, have I ever?    The fact that I consider the words 'with dignity' - does that mean I am getting old?    I turn back in on myself.    I look out through my eyes. 

     Grow Up And Act Your Age.     Is 40 the new 30?    Does this mean anything here in Portland?    I am behind the curve.   I have become Damaged Goods.   I am covered in scars, and not just the ones I gave myself on purpose.    I can run still, but for how much longer?   Is 40 Over?  It used to be, I thought 40 was old not too long ago.    People start to turn now, I want to turn and run.  I do not know where I would go though.   I have no place to hide.    I could hide down inside you if you were here, but you are not, and so I have to look at myself instead.   I should burn all my clothes.     I consider doing this.

      I get my clippers out and shave my head.    I pour myself a drink.    I sit down and write.   I imagine my audience.   Who would it be now?   Who wants to read about me?   What do I have to offer?   What interest could I possibly tantalize?    Bullshit.     It is all bullshit and crap.   I throw my notebooks in the trash.  

     A vehicle has been parked just outside, waiting for me for a long time now.   I hear it's slow sure idle, and I know I have to get in it soon.    It is waiting for me, and it will wait for me forever, I can not hide from it.   It is big, and it is black, make no mistake about THAT.    I do not want to get in, I know the doors will lock and I will be taken someplace I do not want to go.   I try to ignore the sounds and the signs, I have done this for a long time now,  but it is getting clearer every day:   I have to go for a ride soon.    I will put it off for as long as I can, but I am losing steam here.   I don't have many good reasons left not to get in.   Everyone does it eventually.    Who will be waiting for me to get back?