October 12, 2019

Not much else to say.

When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I’d been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?

You’ll be older too
And if you say the word
I could stay with you

I could be handy mending a fuse
When your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride
Doing the garden, digging the weeds
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?

Every summer we can rent a cottage
In the Isle of Wight, if it’s not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck, and Dave

Send me a postcard, drop me a line
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, wasting away
Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?

The years have been flying by. Still find it hard to imagine myself growing this old. It’s been quite a year, emotionally and physically. I should be gearing back with an eye towards retirement, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a full year where I’ve worked this hard, and I’ll admit that I’m feeling pretty worn down and burned out. One of these days I’d like to have a few days off to recharge the batteries but with work the way it is and the pressure the way it us that ain’t coming soon.

It’s been an interesting last few months since July’s Goodboys weekend. Things that once interested me (my golf game, for example) now hold little interest to me, as does the whole idea of being a “Goodboy”. And after this year’s GB weekend I’m thinking that perhaps it might be time to kick back and let some younger whippersnapper with joy, passion, and vision take my place. Maybe it’s the whole anemia thing that has brought me up close and personal to the cancer patients at the MD Anderson Cancer Center that has changed me; it certainly reinforces my opinion that life is for the living, that every day ought to be lived like it’s your last, and the focus needs to be on truly what matters to you and what doesn’t.

Most recently I find that my dreams have changed; lots of work (I can’t get away from it) but also dreams of my departed mom and my brother Mark. I’m not sure what that means – they’ve never been in my dreams much, if ever. I’m tired, emotionally, physically, spiritually. Oh, I can focus alright when needed, but the energy comes in spurts but is expended almost as quickly as it appears. I find it harder to be able to concentrate through a whole day of work without my precious hour nap in the afternoon. I’ve started thinking about life after my current healthcare IT thing and can’t see myself ever working in an office ever again. I find myself longing to look inward and think inward, seeking some return to living a more spiritual life sans the emotional baggage that the whole decade involving the Church and the priesthood thing left behind a decade ago. Something’s calling me to something, but I’m not exactly sure what it is; rather than force it I’ll allow it to come to me in its own good time.

These are all heavy thoughts. Now that the clock has struck twelve, I’ll enjoy a Sam Adams Boston Lager on my back patio under happy pineapple lights. The evening is cool and pleasant, exactly why folks live in the Valley of the Sun.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:17 | Comments Off on When I’m Sixty Four
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