The Man in the Mirror

The old man staring back at me from my bathroom mirror tonight was intrigued by what he saw, but not surprised. A mere ghost of the one who stood in that same spot when we move here in 1987. An even more pale and fading shadow of the man who moved back to this city, this home town, in 1974.

I’ve tracked the steps I have walked since October of last year…over 600 miles. I shudder to even think of the miles I have stepped since 1974. The pounds I carried loading tractor trailer loads of mattresses by myself in the 100 degree heat of the summers of 80’s. Ten hour days building sewing and bagging them in the mid 80’s. On to better jobs from the late 80’s on, for the most part. Except the last 10 years of interminable long hours and super stress. I know we all have done the same though. I don’t claim to hold the patent on hard work and stress. Although it has taken it’s toll from what that old man in the mirror tells me. He’s always tired, and often grouchy. Ashamed. Always just on the razor edge of being somebody, but never quite cutting it. Now he’s wore out. Can’t stand the summer heat, with the ailments of old age and a worn out body his only personal legacy.

Wispy, baggy eyed, and faded as a 12 year old pair of Levi’s.

It’s always good to be able to still function in some capacity, however. But I’ve gotten my reminders lately about being too cavalier with my activities.

As long as I can put one foot in front of the other I’ll keep on going until I can’t get up one of these days. And in the meantime I’ll just quit looking in the mirror. And go to sleep and rest up for tomorrow.

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