Notes for Bad Geezer

“The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” Thomas Hobbs.

I was born wanted. I was also born with a rare brain growth, which made life interesting. This is a remembrance not of fondness but of  great` strangeness.

 

Bad Geezer.

When you get past 50 you come into a strange space, you become a senior, and your life is forever changed in small immutable ways. You are no longer what you were; you consider endings, loss, what could have been. And one’s version of what could have been is generally absurd — but then how would you know, you could torment yourself over impossibilities.

I have regrets, and much more than a few. In fact a veritable cornucopia of regrets from greater to lesser — a film loop of the worst moments of one’s life which plays at inappropriate times. The best moments pale beside them. And wisdom, I am still waiting on that.

But, that’s just me. Some people are very happy being in their fifties, or so they say.

Not me, I became a geezer at 55 and the bad geezer when my nephews caught me smoking a fat boy behind the barn at a family function. It was a boring function. They were completely wacked to catch their old uncle blowing a joint. It amazed them – they had trouble getting their heads around it. Why is it that the young think they’ve discovered everything? Hell, I was dancing with Mary Jane before they were even a twinkle in anybody’s eye. They hee and hawed and finally one of them said, “you are one bad geezer uncle Zeek.” The moniker stuck and gives my family great amusement. My family is like that.

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