“I used to be high on life… but I’ve built up a tolerance.”
She was startled by his sudden outburst.
“Well, that’s a cheery thought”, she smirked.
“I know, but it’s true. It’s life’s cruel joke that just when you begin to get your head together, your body falls apart. It should all be in reverse. You should start life at say, 85 years of age, and then get a year younger every 12 months until you simply disappear. Just imagine being a teenager with a lifetime of wisdom, experience and accumulated wealth. I detest the idea of growing old.”
“Well, you can’t do much about it so you may as well be positive about it and grow old gracefully.”
“Oh, no! Don’t you dare. I can’t stand it. Don’t start that, growing old is a privilege, garbage. Good luck to those who can make themselves believe that rubbish, but I’m not that delusional. Just what’s positive about physical and cognitive decay? Three cheers for senility? Let’s hear it for bad backs and hip replacements? Not to mention inching nearer to death. And what about those people who say: When I look back on my life, I wouldn’t change a thing? Makes me feel like slapping them. Makes me want to say: you idiot, didn’t you learn anything? It’s all pathetically defensive. A fatuous way to cope with the irreversibility of ageing and avoid regret and responsibility. Death will be a relief, in a way.”
“Boy, you really are in a mood.”
“Don’t call me boy.”