old.
Some parts are waking up faster than others.
And there are some parts I wish would stay asleep.
Maybe I'm not that old. Maybe.
I stare out the window and sip the steaming liquid.
Huh.
The Elixir of Knowledge jars loose some grey cells that propose a plausible idea.
A quick litmus test for feeling old or feeling young.
"Here -" ,the little grey cells say, "just pick the statement that best describes your viewpoint.":
YOUNG: "Good morning, Lord!"
OLD: "Good lord - morning."
YOUNG: "Look, it's Bambi!"
OLD: "Nooooo - $500 deductible!"
YOUNG: "But I'm too excited
to go to bed!"
OLD: "zzzzzzzz-snort-zzzzzzzzzzz"
OK. I'm old.
Geezer-like.
My body's getting old, I get that. But my mind, my dreams getting old.
Nooooowwww that's scary.
I used to run around the yard with a bedsheet for a cape.
Doing super things.
Heroic things.
I haven't done that for quite awhile.
Ever since the neighbors called the cops.
And Social Services wanted to take the kids.
Kids.
Yeah, kids are young.
Lucky little buggers.
Kids believe the supernatural is, well, super. And natural.
He is super because He said so.
And they believe Him.
Hey.
I believe in the supernatural.
I do.
But let's be reasonable about it.
See, I add enough hot-sauce theology to the "natural" to make it interesting.
A little tingly.
But c'mon.
I wouldn't want a steady diet of it.
I mean really.
It could upset my delicately balanced view of Him, me, and life.
It'd change the way I look at ...
Oh.
Ohhhhhhhh.
Yeah.
It would put the "super" back in, wouldn't it?
Huh.
Wellllll, nuts.
If I'm going to trust Him, I need to trust.
Completely.
Like a kid.
Whole-hog, whole-hearted.
Nothing held back.
Running full-tilt in complete and utter amazement.
Yeah.
I wanna it to be super again.
I wanna believe.
And I better get moving.
The neighbors are still asleep so I can make a quick lap.
Sorta.
It's a small yard.
All I need is a bedsheet and -
uh-oh . . . the Wife's still sleeping in it.
I'll get one from the hall closet.
I might be super, but I still bruise easy.