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(bang)

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

I am getting old.

Today as I came home from the Canadian Tire with some Poly Filla and garbage bags in preparation for the move, I noticed that the gates to the Mt. Pleasant Cemetery were open, despite the gathering dusk. Surprised and pleased, I took the opportunity to see the place in the near-dark, and seemed to have the place to myself.

Then I slipped on a very thin layer of ice that had formed on the black-top pathway. In other times, I've always been able to partially prepare for and roll with a fall, but this time both feet just went out from under me, and I clocked my head on the pavement. The total elapsed time was something like 0.5 of a second, but I felt old and foolish. Which is entirely different from young and foolish.