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Another year older
Tuesday, February 4th, 2014 02:43 pmI had a very odd night’s sleep last night.
The inside of my head was a very busy place, with a lot of dreams. I remember having them, though the content has long since faded, all except one – the beginning has gone, but I remember the end as it was very sad and woke me up feeling uncharacteristically down. I have no idea what my brain was processing, but I’d prefer it didn’t do it again, any time soon. It was not a nightmare in the sense that it wasn’t terrifying, or otherwise frightening, just immeasurably sad.
Perhaps it was an unconscious reaction to the fact that today is my birthday and I am now motoring well along on the road to a bus pass – assuming they still do bus passes when I finally hit retirement age (still a few years off). If that is indeed what my brain was doing, all I can say is that there is a fair disconnect between my conscious and subconscious minds. Which might explain many things, now I consider it. I have never had a problem with birthdays, or the concept of getting older. I mean, I would prefer to be a few years younger, or at least feel a few years younger – who wouldn’t – but by and large, provided I feel well and am in good health (and my knees don’t hurt too much), I am pretty sanguine about getting older.
Which is just as well, really, all things considered. I don’t much like the alternative and getting older is rather inevitable, regardless of what the cosmetics industry, unguents, linctus, lotion and surgery arms might say singly or in unison.
I had hoped to take yesterday and today off work, but Furtle couldn’t get the time and anyway, although Mum has got back home from hospital today (and sounds much better), I am going up to see the family at the weekend. That means taking Friday as leave, something I’ve done a fair amount since she was first taken ill, so I am now in the position whereby I am carefully hoarding my leave days so we can actually have a holiday or two and maybe the odd long weekend. The price of that is to come into the office on my Day of Jubilee. We are going for a quiet pint after work, but beyond that, I think any proper celebration will have to wait most of a fortnight until we both have a weekend in London. Of course, by then, it won’t feel anything like my birthday and that will be that. Maybe I’ll have an extra beer tonight to make up for it, though being a school night as it were, I shan’t be going too wild.
Anyway. Happy birthday to me. Fifty-five isn’t so bad so far.
The inside of my head was a very busy place, with a lot of dreams. I remember having them, though the content has long since faded, all except one – the beginning has gone, but I remember the end as it was very sad and woke me up feeling uncharacteristically down. I have no idea what my brain was processing, but I’d prefer it didn’t do it again, any time soon. It was not a nightmare in the sense that it wasn’t terrifying, or otherwise frightening, just immeasurably sad.
Perhaps it was an unconscious reaction to the fact that today is my birthday and I am now motoring well along on the road to a bus pass – assuming they still do bus passes when I finally hit retirement age (still a few years off). If that is indeed what my brain was doing, all I can say is that there is a fair disconnect between my conscious and subconscious minds. Which might explain many things, now I consider it. I have never had a problem with birthdays, or the concept of getting older. I mean, I would prefer to be a few years younger, or at least feel a few years younger – who wouldn’t – but by and large, provided I feel well and am in good health (and my knees don’t hurt too much), I am pretty sanguine about getting older.
Which is just as well, really, all things considered. I don’t much like the alternative and getting older is rather inevitable, regardless of what the cosmetics industry, unguents, linctus, lotion and surgery arms might say singly or in unison.
I had hoped to take yesterday and today off work, but Furtle couldn’t get the time and anyway, although Mum has got back home from hospital today (and sounds much better), I am going up to see the family at the weekend. That means taking Friday as leave, something I’ve done a fair amount since she was first taken ill, so I am now in the position whereby I am carefully hoarding my leave days so we can actually have a holiday or two and maybe the odd long weekend. The price of that is to come into the office on my Day of Jubilee. We are going for a quiet pint after work, but beyond that, I think any proper celebration will have to wait most of a fortnight until we both have a weekend in London. Of course, by then, it won’t feel anything like my birthday and that will be that. Maybe I’ll have an extra beer tonight to make up for it, though being a school night as it were, I shan’t be going too wild.
Anyway. Happy birthday to me. Fifty-five isn’t so bad so far.