I’m Sixty. Apparently, My Imagination Didn’t Get the Memo.

I have to be honest, right from the start. I look and feel sixty years old. Gray beard, dad-bod, wrinkles, some age spots becoming noticeable, and vision that is not what it used to be. Add to that a counter full of medications, naps being a requirement, and a serious GenX attitude, I am probably the poster-child for a sixty year old man. I am not the healthy, fit, sexy older and refined sixty year old that gets a lot attention. My hat's off to those fellas. Good on you mate! I envy those guys. But I honestly feel like I am at the point that trying to become that won't happen in this life. But, my imagination and desires? Yeah, I might as well be fucking 30 years old again. But my body regularly makes it clear it is having no part of that and many times relays a hearty "fuck you" when I try to pretend I am younger. But here I am. Single, and finding out things about myself I missed out on when I was thirty. Into goth women? Really? WTF is that? Where did that come from? And why the…

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