Getting old

Not a week goes by when I am reminded that I’m getting old.

I’m not talking about grey hair and exercise being painful.  I’ve had grey hair for a really long time, and exercise has always sucked.  What I mean is the almost constant reminders from the outside.

The major signs happened years ago.  The first time I said to someone “Back when I was your age” almost killed me.  That was the big one.  That’s the one that made me realize I wasn’t a kid any more.

Hollywood has an awful habit of making stuff that tells me that I’m old.  They need to stop remaking stuff for younger audiences.  Particularly when they remake it badly.  And in the case of making movies from television serieses from the 70’s, that’s saying a lot.

The news is always good as an age reminder.  Particularly when they talk about who died.  Who doesn’t have an older relative who talks about almost nothing else?  For hours?  It’s depressing.

Fortunately, my current job is very solitary.  I don’t have any co-workers to let me know how old I am.  Like the time when someone asked me who Joe Frazier was.  That hurt.  Now, granted, a lot of the people I’ve worked with over the years were idiots.  But when I moved up here, they suddenly became young idiots.

Part of the problem is my fault.  As a small child, I preferred the company of adults over kids my own age.  They were mature and that was kind of cool.  I’ve gotten better about dealing with my peers.  But the younger they are, the harder it is for me to not be snarky.

I used to wonder about the crankiness of older people when I was small.  On looking back, most of those older people were about the age I am now. (sigh)

Oh well.  There’s nothing I can do about it.  So, I’ll just relax and let them all look baffled when I mention something from a while ago.  After all, I’ve had plenty of practice.