WHAT IS YOUR REAL AGE?

When I am asked my age, I answer that I'm 74. The response is not accurate, but I am not alone in my self-deception. People believe that the number of years they have lived represents their true age. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I am not 73. I am 74. Last December I thought I had turned 73. I was born just after Christmas, which cost me significantly in the quantity of presents I received. Nothing has changed throughout the years.
I usually find myself alone at a bar drinking Micheladas and consuming a plate of fried shrimp, fries and cold slaw. I am not depressed. I congratulate myself on completing another year.

As an ex-coach, numbers have an importance to me simply from a competitive standpoint. As long as you're healthy, another year under your belt is a partial victory in defiance of our inevitable defeat.
My parents were financially depleted after helping Santa Claus provide for eight children. Birthdays in terms of celebrations were anti-climatic for me because my parents and others weren't in the mood to spend money on me or treat me to a big party.
Regardless of my own disappointments, I have been more impacted by recognizing my real age. Seventy-three years represent my life span that I have completed. I am now living in my 74th year. Therefore, 74 is my age.
With my birthday arrives again (Hopefully I will still be alive as I look around me and observe heart attacks and cancer taking their fatal toll in significant numbers) in the last days of December, I won't be 74. I will have passed that milestone. I will be 75. I will have survived 74 years. I will be embarking on my 75th year. Thus, I will be 75, not 74.

Individuals endure a mental panic when they move from one decade to the next. The first encounter is turning 30 for many persons. But they have been deluding themselves.
When they have their birthday marking them as 30-yeas-olds, they don't realize that they have been 30 the entire year. Their latest anniversary commemorating their existence measured in years marks the commencement of their 31st year.
We like to fool ourselves into thinking that we are younger than we really are. Most our time in general is wasted delusionally. Reality is too painful. I give thanks I'm not a women whose self-image revolves around their youthful appearance. Who wants to fuck an old hag!!!
We don't realize that when we're doing our best to fool ourselves and others into believing that we're younger than we really are, we are evading the fact that we are older than we believe we really are. Is it the fear of our impending deaths that convinces us to refute the truth about ourselves?
It's just a thought. It's three in the morning and I can't sleep. I awoke from a nightmare in which members of a drug cartel were going to execute me preceded by an extended torture. It is intriguing how dreams sublimate our fears.
I have more than my share of political enemies and in their desperation to rule some will have no second thoughts about succumbing to a dangerous act. I even fear Trump and Musk as the bogeymen. I fear they are so intent on becoming all-powerful that they have no qualms about eliminating everyone who opposes or criticizes them. Their first incursion is an attack during the dark of night when I'm in a helpless state deep in sleep.
In order to regain partial control of our own minds when we awake from a somnolent horror, we have to escape the past and become fully conscious of the present. After I have written for an hour, I have achieved that goal. I will select the best of Debussy and return to bed. 

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