The Art of Growing Old
I Don’t Believe in Tomorrows
My time is just now, just this moment
Just Now, Just This Moment
The past is like this woman I was set up with on a blind date so last century. She entered the café and I was in love. Tall, heels, short skirt, a teacher who read my favorites, no kids in trouble, no ex-husbands peeking in the window and she didn’t live with her mother.
We ate, drank, I walked her to her car… and kissed her. Her front teeth fell out and she caught them before they hit the ground, obviously a move where she had some practice. This wasn’t necessarily a deal breaker, I hadn’t been on a date in quite a while, but her current boyfriend pulled up and asked if she needed a ride home. I left, quickly, and we did not exchange numbers.
To me, that woman is how I feel about the past in my life. Looks so good from a distance, in that little red dress and heels, but up close just isn’t anything I want to visit again. Seductive as hell, but I experienced it once, and once was enough. Much of my past was created by a guy I no longer am and I certainly don’t want to revisit his stupidity again… I barely survived him the first time.
Yes, there are things I remember that were good, such as the smile of my Mother, or a beer with my Dad in his…
