Just Another Day, Aging

Rm Harrington Journal Entry

As yesterday passed, it claimed another breath from my youth. Not that I mind aging, but when dimples become wrinkles, some worldly commentator will eventually challenge the definition of such minor facial creases. Those deliciously cute skin folds of childhood come to resemble cracks, fissures, and canyons without warning. Then friends make jokes.

Now, I’m too old to care about impressing the ladies and too tired to try. So, if yesterday would stop carving ruts along my cheeks, forehead, and neck, I’d end the complaining.

The problem is, no matter how much today consumes, yesterday remains forever a greedy beast, crushing my chest and pressing my belly into an oversize rubber tube with an uncapped valve stem smothered in the middle. This bygone monster weakens my knees, sags my neck, and distorts my vision while stealing my hearing—these last two vexations may be a blessing in disguise as they excuse my negligent and arrogant resistance to chance.

I am, however, fed up with yesterday’s habit of passing too quickly. Not that I want to live forever, mind you. But as the years accumulate, my days become slower in starting. Couple that with yesterday stealing my breath, and I barely know when a new day begins.

Oh well, today or yesterday, it’s all just another wrinkle in time.

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