We all have that little inner voice that we really should listen to. But my voice of reason often mumbles. Perhaps a speech impediment. Lately I have trouble making out just what it's talking about. "Speak up!" I say and it says, "Arrrummnnumlee. . .errr."
Lately I'm afraid that my inner child is developing Alzheimer's. I know for sure that brat has arthritis. She can barely get out of bed some mornings. Lots of days she'd rather stay home than come to work with me. She has been forgetting to play. Maybe she's depressed.
And another thing - all my life I have marched to a different drummer. But I think that fool lost his bongos. He has been the sound of one hand clapping and it's tough to keep the beat. I feel like I'm tripping along.
My boss saw me dancing - make that trying to dance - in the hall yesterday and nearly fell down laughing. I looked like I attended the White Geriatric School of Dance for the Footless. When did that happen? The wings on my feet have lost their feathers.
I have no trouble aging. But all those other folk - that little voice, my inner child, my different drummer - those guys aren't handling it well.