I'm This Many

They say you’re only as old as you feel, but I just can’t decide what age to be. I know I’m pushing thirty years, but I can’t seem to nail down what that feels like. It’s confusing, because every day is different. Sometimes I feel like a teenager, and sometimes I feel like a very old man. Coincidentally, the times I feel like a teenager are often immediately followed by the times I feel like a very old man. Sometimes I feel like a kid, like when I’m finger painting, or eating a popsicle, and sometimes I feel as though somebody should put me on my death bed and pull the plug. Sometimes I fill my kiddy pool with warm goo and sit in it wrapped in a slippery canvas tarp while my stereo plays the sound of a gently beating heart. Sometimes I put on an old dress, thick loose stockings, and costume jewelry, smear lipstick around my mouth, and drink from a glass of bourbon while I complain that this meatloaf isn’t well done. Sometimes I stay up all night playing The Adventures of Link on original Nintendo instead of doing my homework and then have to run to catch the bus in the morning because I overslept and forgot to brush my teeth. Shit, I forgot my lunch again. I never really know how I’m going to feel on any given day. It’s all up to Chance, or Fate, or what I had for dinner (a Salisbury pork steak, barbecue sauce, no vegetables), so how can I in good conscience tell anybody how old I am when I can’t quite know myself? I think from now on if the topic of my age comes up I’m just going to hold my arms out as if I’m showing you the fish that got away and say, “I’m this many.” Then it’ll be up to you to decide how old I am, but guess wisely, I’m just dying to put somebody on Timeout.