Getting Old Sucks

For as long as I can remember, whenever I’d see my grandmother and ask her how she was doing, the reply would be the same, “Getting old sucks.” I would always brush this comment off and pretend that she was being funny, but recently it dawned on me that Grandma was correct and getting old does indeed suck.

Of course I’m barely into my 30’s and can hardly be counted as old, but I am beginning to get the first inkling into what she was talking about for all those years. Back in the day I would be able to recover from strenuous exercise in hours or days; now I limp about for a week at least. I can also remember a time not so long ago when I could attend picnics without worrying about whether or not I left my ball cap and sunscreen at home. I can even recall scoffing at my parents for their claims that their backs hurt too much to play outside.

I could deal with all these signs of getting older if it wasn’t for this one thing. I noted the other day that it has been years since I have Ranted. It used to be that in the normal course of my day I would encounter something or someone so tragically stupid that I would only be able to contain my rage and indignation until I was barely inside the front door and then I would begin my Rant. These rants were epic: they involved extravagant hand gestures, imitations, mockery, and inventive cursing. Some of my friends swore that I should tape them in order to preserve them for posterity, they were that good.

I wish that I could say that I’ve matured as I’ve gotten older and that now I’m able to see other points of view. I also wish that I could say that I’ve grown more tolerant of the terminally stupid and have learned to take such things in stride. I can’t say those things, however. The best that I can say is that as I’ve gotten older I have come to the realization that my Rants use up a great deal of energy and when you’re chasing children (your own or someone else’s) all day and you’re going bald and your back hurts and no one is going to make you dinner unless you do it yourself, you find that summoning the energy for a truly great Rant is quite impossible. In fact, the best that I’ve been able to achieve lately is ironic observation, which is every bit as humorous, but far less taxing.

The thing is, I miss Ranting. I was good at it and shouting and throwing things for no good reason is very fun. I suppose that Ranting, like keg stands, MTV, Air Jordans, and combs, is something that I’ll have to set aside until I’m old enough to nostalgically recall them later and bore my children and grandchildren to death.

Still I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to miss it. Getting old sucks.

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