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The day had barely begun, as the young man saddled up his donkey in the warm, dank comfort of his barn. The air outside was cold as hate, and lashed at the unprotected with invisible picks, slicing through skin as a warm knife through butter, chilling the bone to the core. Moonlight streamed down on the sleeping town, providing equally frigid illumination. The few who dared venture out this early were brisk of step. Wrapped in layers of fur and leather, frost laced their eyebrows, like fragile curtains framing the glassy windows that darted furtively around, searching for shelter. Their breaths took form, hung and disappeared with every labourous pant. The echoes of their boots against the icy cobblestones lining Main Street made a racket that sounded like an invasion of a thousand horses, all galloping full tilt down the deserted marketplace. The local watchman was curled up in his little hut by the gates, kettle on the stove, trying not to freeze to death. There was barely a light to be seen in all directions, most of the townspeople being late risers. And it was on nights like this, swore the older folk, that the Devil makes Himself a cup of cocoa and waits patiently for Hell to thaw out.

<i>Experiment 2 — Gary Koh</i>
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Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we’re kids? If you’re less than 10 years old, you’re so excited about aging that you think in fractions. “How old are you?” “I’m 4 and half.”

You’re never 36 and a half, but you’re 4 and a half going on 5! That’s the key. You get into your teens, now they can’t hold you back. You jump to the next number. “How old are you?” “I’m gonna be 16.” You could be 12, but you’re gonna be 16.

And then the greatest day of your life happens: you become 21.
Even the words sounds like a ceremony — you BECOME 21. YES!!!!

But then you turn 30. Ooohhh, what happened here? Makes you sound like bad milk. He TURNED. We had to throw him out. There’s no fun now. What’s wrong?? What changed?

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you’re PUSHING 40… stay over there, it’s all slipping away…

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, you’re PUSHING 40, you REACH 50… my dreams are gone…

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, you’re PUSHING 40, you REACH 50 and then you MAKE IT to 60… Whew! I didn’t think I’d make it.

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, You’re PUSHING 40, you REACH 50, you MAKE IT to 60, and by then you’ve built up so much speed, you HIT 70.

After that, it’s a day-by-day thing. You HIT Wednesday, you get into your 80s, you HIT lunch. I mean my grandmother won’t even buy green bananas, “Well it’s an investment, you know, and maybe a bad one.”

And it doesn’t end there… Into the 90’s, you start going backwards: “I was JUST 92.” Then a strange thing happens, if you make it over 100, you become a little kid again: “I’m 100 and a half!!”

<i>Growing Old — Florence</i>
(Found this passage online. rather interesting.)

Gary @ 29 Apr 2002 :: Old Deadjournal posts :: No Comments »