Living in My Fantasy, Old and Sick and Full of Life
In one of my favorite fantasies, I'm old.
I'm sitting at my kitchen table, wrapped in a well-loved but somewhat ratty bathrobe, leisurely sipping coffee and taking bites of buttered toast slathered in cherry jam. Outside, the sun shines and birds chirp.
I flip through a fat newspaper, passing up all the stories that look too depressing or too long. I linger on book and movie reviews, then do the crossword puzzle in pen.
At no point in this reverie does anything remarkable happen.
What makes this mundane dream so relaxing, so marvelous, is what's not there.
There are no thoughts of work, children or home; my most important successes and biggest mistakes in those regards have concluded. I'm not worried about gaining weight or going gray because, on both fronts, the fight is over. I look like what I look like, and my accomplishments, or lack thereof, are what they are.
What a relief.
Now, before you start, I know aging isn't all coffee and crossword puzzles, and the elderly have plenty of troubles, but still, it won't be all bad, will it?
Catching COVID wasn't all bad, either.
After two years of successfully eluding it, the coronavirus finally, recently, caught me.