Another year’s gone by, and for some strange reason, I don’t feel any older. Sure, I might have slowed down a bit, and I feel a tiny ache in the mornings. I’m groggy until I have my first cup of coffee, and I wake up before the first light, a habit that’s hard to break. But even with all that, I still doze off in my chair for a quick afternoon snooze, muttering to myself that I’m just resting my eyes or meditating. The price to pay for getting up so early and spending my money before noon.
I know I’m not the only one with these habits. I often make promises to myself to get some exercise, start a diet, or do something fun. This year, I’ve blamed the spring ahead, telling myself that it’s really six, not five, a.m. I fill my time watching the news, as if I can really make a difference, or I get the cans out for collection. These small wins feel like wins, but they’re short-lived as the cans get filled again and again in a constant rhythm of plastic, boxes, and cans.
Everyday life is a bit monotonous, with a daily routine of chores, repairs, and trips out just to get out. This summer has been a relentless onslaught of heat and humidity. I’ve spent my days applying sunscreen, wearing wide-brimmed hats, arm gators, and even real gators. It’s an endless cycle of life in the subtropics, where summer never truly ends. Fall and winter might be more reasonable, with warmer and cooler nights, but the sun, in its infinite wisdom, continues to stalk the unwary with its relentless high UV rays. The pink and red hues of the sun define the locals and tourists from around the world.
So, I may be a little older and hopefully wiser, but I’m still here. Considering the alternative, I’m grateful to be in this place.
