Old Age

Old age. Getting old. Call it what you will. What's important is that it's clearly and inexorably approaching. I don't have any gray hair yet, and touch wood, my health is holding up, but there are signs.

*** 

My arm has suddenly become a visual aid. Reading product packaging now follows some kind of elderly ritual: stretch your arm half a meter in front of you, blink three times, and the swarm of tiny letters slowly crystallizes into words. Suddenly I can make out that the dish should be baked on the middle rack, at 200 degrees, with the fan on. My eyesight has come full circle. Once upon a time, anything farther than half a meter away disappeared behind a milky haze. Now the farther away it is, the better, at least when it comes to fonts smaller than size 10.

***

The gym. A twenty-something girl, supposedly a trainer, though judging by her teenage appearance I have my doubts, is shouting in my ear: "Faster!", "You can do it!", "Don't give up!" As I paddle across an invisible Thames on the rowing machine, a fragment of a Peter Gabriel song, growing irritation, and the following thoughts drift through my mind: It's 6:30 in the morning. Getting out of bed and making it here is already an achievement, thank you very much. I don't need any external motivation. Also, could you please step back a bit? You're invading my personal space. And finally: What do you know about life, girl...?

There. It happened. I actually thought it. There's no going back now.

***

I come home, and from the moment I walk through the door I'm hit by an unbearable noise.

My body shivers. My brain feels like it's being drilled through. Sweat forms on my temples.

Oh no. No, no, no. Dan is watching YouTube. The volume is set to 20, when everyone knows that for this particular platform the optimal volume level is 12. Anything above that causes immediate irritation. Netflix is different. There we can go wild and crank it all the way up to 17.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have preferred volume settings depending on the streaming platform. Well, what can you do? It is what it is.

***

I've also joined the nationwide train of Prus "enthusiasts" and picked up The Doll to refresh my memory of this literary classic before seeing the film adaptation. I'm only on page 20 and already the old geezer in me is coming out. Because those wellingtons are presented with such care, personalized with initials, wrapped in tissue paper... Things really were better back then... Stop. Pull yourself together, woman. What do you mean "back then"?

In 1870? Your grandmother didn't even exist yet, even as an idea, and you're already feeling nostalgic.

***

So I keep observing these signs of getting old with decreasing surprise and a certain curiosity. Because my aging seems to be in harmony with the melody of the whole world.

We're both slowly heading toward decline.

Oh, there you go again. The old geezer just slipped out once more. I think it's time for a vacation...