It was yesterday, or perhaps the day before, that my best friend (let's call her Gloria) and I, sat in a patio at dinner time.
[If you've ever been to Toronto, you'd know how passionate Torontonians are when it comes to their patios. I guess that after eight (8!) months of really crummy weather we want to take advantage of normal temperatures as much as possible and spend every moment we can outdoors. But I'm digressing.]
So we sat there at the patio, Gloria and I, and had dinner. She had a pizza and I had... never mind. Something disappointing, expensive and far too small. I finished eating within two minutes and remained hungry, which didn't help the original fiery mood I was in.
"I think I'm going to call in sick tomorrow," Gloria suddenly said, taking a break from her pizza.
I glanced at her plate. Thin crust, lots of cheese, just the way I like it. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah, really, and this time I mean it!"
"As if," I snorted.
Gloria looked at me for a moment, wrinkling her forehead. "Well, you know what's it like," she started her apologetic routine. "Responsibilities---"
"Yeah, yeah," I didn't let her finish.
"What is wrong with you today?" Gloria asked.
"Other than being f***ing hungry?" I grumbled. "You know, same old," I said as Gloria put a slice on my very empty plate. "Age crisis."
"But I thought you're past that," she said.
"How can I, Gloria? It's not like it's getting any better."
"No, I guess not," Gloria laughed. "But you look great. You don't look your age---"
"What does that have to do with anything?" I retorted with my mouth full, somewhat snappish. "And you know what kills me?"
Gloria shook her head.
"They still didn't find a cure."
"For aging," I said exasperated.
"It's how one deals with aging that's important. You're young at heart---"
"Blah blah blah," I cut her off again, undoubtedly acting very 'young.'
"You still have the majority of your life ahead of you," Gloria tried a different approach.
"You say that now, but a few years ago I actually had 90% of my life ahead of me, now it's about 60%, and in a few years it will be 30%. It sucks." I was on a rampage and I wasn't taking any prisoners. "Fact is that with each moment that passes I'm that much closer to my grave, and there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing!"
Gloria looked at me for quite a while before she banged her hand on the table. "Fuck, you're right. Now I'm depressed."
No worries folks, Gloria and I still had fun for the rest of the evening. I felt much better after taking it out on poor Gloria.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm obsessed with my mortality. It's that I'm obsessed with my aging. I feel it. I know it. It's in my bones. Literally.
But you see, a writer, even if s/he can't live in a fantasy world, can, however, create one. So I went back home and revised the age of all my protagonists down. If they die, it will be by my hands and not because of any other reason. That's the way I like it, thank you very much.
(I did write 1,500 words yesterday. Today's tally isn't done yet).
Categories: writing, personal