Dead Aim

It has come to my attention that I am getting older. Not old, mind you, but no longer a spring chicken. Years, months and days are quickly passing me by. I can still live fast, but I won't die young.

You know what this means don't you? I'm never going to be a child prodigy. Genius is probably forever out of my reach. In theory, my IQ will never change. My cognitive functioning level is probably redlining as I write this.

As I watch the Olympics I realize I'll never be atop the podium with gold, silver or bronze. There will be no victory lap and the heavy hardware won't hang from my neck as the national anthem plays throughout the stadium.

Youthful indiscretion is not an option. Waking up cuffed in the county jail will no longer elicit a "boys will be boys" from my mother. I must now be an upstanding, law-abiding adult. There are social conventions to be obeyed.

I still play my guitar, but realize I'll never become a rock star. Trashing hotel rooms and entertaining groupies will result in penalties too high for me to pay. Rock and Roll is a young man's game.

The minutes and seconds are slipping away, but I'm okay with this. There's a lot of life left in me. I can still read books about quantum physics and pretend I understand. Lapping the old lady at the jogging track will still feel like a victory. Committing an act of civil disobedience is a forgivable offense and there's always the arena of my living room to demonstrate musical prowess.

Besides, I still might have a shot at that Nobel Peace prize. They sometimes give that to old guys, right?