Writing Checks

Remember old-fashioned technology: the checkbook.
I'm still using it.

Sure, it's low-tech and I've got to think hard to remember the date, the year, even why I'm even writing a check anyway.

This morning I had to think a minute at Longs...or was it Rite-Aide? No it was Longs. I was right the first time. It could have been Tuttle's for all I knew. 'Course I hadn't had my coffee yet. That could explain it.

The teller was about my age (with the same birth date!) and she was very helpful. She remembered where SHE was and so she could help me figure out where I was.

This afternoon, at Michael's I couldn't remember where I was, but that's understandable seeing as Michael's is a deplorable store with horrible fluorescent lights with way too much neon junk on the shelves, most sporting sale stickers in a frightening yellow/red combination. Just appalling. I couldn't have remembered my own name if I'd had to spend more than 10 minutes there, and unfortunately I spent 20. I just get mesmerized by the bright, bitter colors. I may as well stare at a spinning spiral, faster and faster, 'til my eyes are rolling around and my brain goes into an electrical spasm.

That reminds me...at the ranch where I ride, I grabbed the electric fence by mistake.
WOW@! what a SNAP and YOW@!
how that hurt!
No wonder the horses stay back!
I saw a blue, arcing light, maybe it was an angel, I don't know.

The year of 59 looms.
It seems worse than 60.
At least 60 has a zero and as you know, zero represents an age so young it's measured in weeks.

I wonder if my brain is getting smoother.
Smoother in old age?
The wrinkliest brains are brainier brains.
A fierce insult could be:
"You have a smooth brain!"
A certain child who thought up that insult had a favorite cell, the brain cell.
She could cut to the quick.

Below is a video of me.
I'd like to say I'm in costume, but actually, that look is my real self. The usual daily look is a good make up job by a famous Hollywood make-up artist. During the week, he keeps my face at about 55. Weekends are hell.

Can we skip 59?
Just take me directly to 60;
that number with the very young zero.



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