Old man, look at my life.

With Matt's recent post about his Alzheimer's running crew and my recent transition from 22 to 23, I have been thinking a lot about age. What to do with one's life when life starts to slope downwards, towards the chopping block. Towards the black tunnel at the end of the gray tunnel of life, with sometimes a bright light at the end if you were good and paid your taxes and gave candy to trick-or-treaters. It's hard to get motivated about life when you start thinking about it as a whole, as a big picture that was painted by a half-retarded one-armed version of myself. Does anyone look back on their life and not think about what a mess it was, like looking back after taking a shit in the woods to see that there is actually just shit all up in your pants? That is life. You think you are shitting in a hole but really you are shitting in your only clean pair of trousers. Good luck finding a stream to rinse that out in. Good luck explaining to your friends why are walking with a strange gait and that "mossy" smell is following you around everywhere you go. Good luck with that, because that is life, and you have to eat the whole thing, even if you have to sit at the dinner table all night long. I know you don't like green beans, but life is fucking green beans. Life is pickled green beans. You don't even like raw green beans, but God cooked life (the green beans) in vinegar, and now you have to eat those vinegar-ass green beans whether you like it or not, because if you leave the table early (suicide) you aren't going to get any dessert (heaven). Dessert help you if you try to claw a living out in this world, the thing you are going to be clawing out is your shithole in the woods. Finding a nice shithole under a tree is about as lucky as you can hope to get these days, since all the prime real estate is on the moon, and last time I checked nobody has the wherewithal to build a base on the moon because nobody has the stones to roll the bones and build a freakin' moon colony. Life will sometimes give you the stinkeye, but you have to poke that shit out with a stick if you hope to be given an inch, because an inch is all you will get, you freakin inchworm bitch. Life is a big old fat robin bird waiting to eat your inchworm ass right out of the hole because he is the early bird, and the early bird will make a meal out of you with a side of coleslaw because it is DAMN CERTAIN that he always gets the worm.