I was feeling old. I believe it was because I remembered driving with my Grandmother in her car, which was a '55 Nash Rambler. I was six. We were driving twenty miles an hour on Lindbergh Boulevard. We were not making any friends. I realized that few of my work colleagues would have driven in a car made before the sixties, if not the seventies.
Then I woke up today, saw it was May Day, then picked right up with "No work colleagues have danced around a Maypole." I use the words "Dance" and "Maypole" loosely; it was a tetherball pole taped up with crepe paper streamers, and we did not dance as much as plod.
I also feel old because Facebook keeps filling my feed with photos of Green Stamps and Mercurochrome, captioned "IF YOU REMEMBER THIS YOU ARE OLD."
And most of all, I feel old because I was all set to have someone fix my neurogenic bladder today, and now the insurance is stalling, and I am left with a sixty year old MS bladder and no clear path to even short-term improvement.
I had even spent an evening talking Gary into supporting me. At least this time I knew he'd come around eventually, so I guess that's the wisdom that comes with age.
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