Stuff Dawns On Me, Which Is Never a Good Thing

I just had a horrifying thought. When I was nine years old, I was full of vim and vigor.

When I was twice as told as that, eighteen, I was still full of vim and vigor.

Now I'm twice as old as that, thirty-six, and I still am filled with vim and vigor. Watch me on the dance floor, man---I tear it up every time!

But my God, when I'm as twice as old as that, someone will be placing a scarf around my shoulders and pushing me in front of a big window that looks out over the back end of a strip mall so that all you can see is the rear loading doors of a Payless Shoes and a B. Dalton Books and a Chesapeake Bagel Bakery and a Baskin Robbins and a Jenny Craig Weight Loss Center and a Petco Pet Supply and a Blockbuster Video and one other store which keeps showing signs of opening up but never really does, all of this bordered by of those weird little trenches that kind of forms a dirty brackish pond and is surrounded by swampy weeds and a big black chain link fence with horseflies buzzing around an old plastic Slurpee cup and an unexplained empty white plastic trash bag which obviously once contained something because there's a knot at the top and it's all stretched out but the contents must have fallen out somewhere along the line, God knows where, and I'll just sit there for seven hours or so trying to remember the name of that one show I really used to like. Depressing. Depressing.

Are you gonna eat the last of that melon?