Back to School, But Did I Ever Leave?

The internal clock propels me out of bed at 6:40am, ten minutes before the cell phone override alarm blasts some imitation Bach telling me it's really time to start the day. After this morning workout (sit-ups, one set, one rep) I cool off by walking to the bathroom, where I stand nude in front of the mirror at my uncle Jim's old house in Grandview, the years forcing the slow descent of my eyelids into the realm of my great-grandma Hagan, gravity weighing heaviliy on the outside, delusions of gravitas bouncing about on the inside.

I pluck the grays that line my beard and temples diligently, each singular pull revealing two more offending whites. The strength of my will and the longing for a youthful facade are no match for these insurgent foreshadowers of old age. After about a dozen pulls, I retreat from this quixotic battle.

My chest is covered in the most exotic of furs, the Irish-Italian brunette blend, a curly confluence of testosterone and genetic freakiness. The years have not left well enough alone, as they view my shoulders, back, and ass as fresh pulpits in which to spread their gospel of folicle proliferation. (Go ahead, mix your metaphors, bitch, and I'll mix mine.)

I'm still relatively trim and debatably fit, the body giving little outward indication of the self-inflicted and outsourced abuse it has absorbed over three decades. But my knees crack with every step, my right shoulder has limited range of motion, and my wrists, ankles, and feet occasionally scream, "you fucked me over too!"

One thing I've learned is that these "ailments" are very minor and will only get worse. Such is the joy of aging. So for now, I give the mirror one last "hi and howarya?", and unleash a snarl-sneer-wink combination that still melts my inner-Narcissus. Brush the tizzlers, slap on some deodio, and let's attack the day.

Work takes me to college campuses all over the country, and now I'm doing the Ohio State Thing (I WILL NOT CAPITALIZE "the" in the Ohio State University until my alma mater is renamed "The Muthafuckin Ohio University" or "The Shit"). The kids I hire have remarkably similar interests and maturity in relation to me, though I fear that this is more of an indictment on my hobbies and sources of joy than it is a vindication of America's Youth. They are burdened with the triviality of youthful circumstance, and only by glancing in the rear-view do I realize how innocent and endearing these problems are. Your girlfriend left you? Sorry bud, at least you're not on the hook for a $1200 a month house payment. You're missing your bestie's birthday bash for a family obligation? Sucks for you, try spending five consecutive birthdays of your own in five different states, just so you can pay that Lowe's bill for the dryer, ceiling fans, and lawn mower.

Lest I sound woe is me, this is more woe is old. I still get down. I don't have any kids, so my rueful rants will undoubtedly ring hollow for those with children and-or those with a preponderance of gray hairs on their head.

And so I stare at the blonde girl browsing books in the stacks, not a stare that will put me on some state-wide database with my picture on it and require the county to send a mailing to my neighbors letting them know that a guy like me happens to live in your community, but a gentle stare of longing and appreciation. The human form, in full. The bloom of youth, freaking blooming.

My journey today has taken me from the bed to the bathroom to the workplace, and not many tangible locations in between (other than KFC). But Introspection Boulevard has a plenty of points of interest on it, and I know I've been on that all day.

And then it happens, I catch eyes with blondy. I give her a slight snarl-sneer-wink combo. She smiles back. Maybe she likes me. Or maybe she's just intrigued by the descending eyelids on the bearded old guy. Or maybe none of it matters and she is being awkwardly polite in a "don't put me in an unmarked van and force me to live at the bottom of a well at an abandoned farmhouse outside of Coshocton" sort of way. I'll guess we'll never know. But still...

Where are my tweezers? I've got grays to pull. I'll be in the bathroom if you need me.