It's Good To Be Old

I was sitting in my recliner at 8:30 this morning.

Maka in my lap. Book in my hand. Coffee steaming next to me. Carol in bed.

These are my most peaceful moments in life. Most. Hands down. In fact if that was all I had to do for the rest of my life I would live to be 876 years old.

I rolled out of bed at 7:00. Sleep is a myth for me. A fucking joke.

I go to bed because I am tired. I wake up tired. I stagger through the day tired. I go to bed tired.

It is a wonderful existence. Something I dreamed about as a kid.

I went to bed at 11:30 last night. I woke up at 2:00. Visited the bathroom like any 99 year old man. Drifted in and out of sleep between then and 7:00.

I hate going to bed. I hate being awake. What does that leave?

I was sitting in my recliner at 8:30 this morning. Travis showed up to shovel the snow. Initially I was surprised. We only got an inch or two. He only shows up for heavy duty shit.

But he was out there hacking and scraping and stabbing and attacking. Apparently it is a bit icy. Crusty.

Better him than me.

We are old. We have a guy who shovels snow for us. He is reliable. He's a good guy.

We are supposed to pay him cash money but I refuse. I learned that from trump. I toss him a crust of bread as he stands there, breathing heavy and sweating in the cold. Then I offer him a tumbler of premium whiskey.

He drops to one knee and says "Thank you so much. You are very kind." He goes away and comes back for the next snow storm.

It's good to be old.

We have servants now.