Old People, Voting, and My Own Death
When I voted on Tuesday the woman who explained how to use the electronic booth was ANCIENT! The people who volunteer at these places are usually retired and the place was full of the frail and the pale, their palsied hands fumbling through pages of voter names, handing out "I voted" stickers and being useful. This woman, however, was a fossil. She was the granddaddy of grandmas. If the polling place was a video game she would have been the final boss.
I've been thinking a lot about age lately. I noticed a couple rooneys on my face the other day. That's what I call the freak eyebrows that occasionally grow on older men. I named them after Andy Rooney.
I have been going through a particularly good period lately. There is no chaos or turmoil which is a rarity for me. Work's going smoothly, I have been in a wonderful relationship for a year now, my son is an awesome little guy and Babymomma and I have been getting along.
Last night I had a dream that I had recently died and was visiting my own grave. The headstone was made of particle board that was warped from rain. I thought that whoever bought it was a cheap bastard. I was wondering how I could be walking around if I was dead and thought that I was lucky to be able to still have a physical body even though my...physical body was dead. Dreams don't have to make sense.
This conflicted with my Athiesm and I tried to find a logic in the situation. The dream has been with me all day. I am greatful to be alive and healthy.
The candidate for whom I voted did not win. I didn't vote for the young black guy. I didn't vote for the old guy either. Old guys have bushy eyebrows.