and wasn't it a long way down, wasn't it a strange way down?
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Lester Jonze has made a post, entitled "*Before They Were Old*":http://mog.com/Lester_Jonze/blog_post/106729, talking about the Who and Who's Next.It reminded me that, if i live another two months, i'll be 59 on 22 October.Not real sure i want to live another two months.Not that it's any way likely i'm going to "*pull an Amy Winehouse*":http://mog.com/Afficionado/blog_post/106665 - i have no desire to *die*, but i find that it's just harder and harder to get up and do anything every day.It's probably at least partly because i've managed to forget more often than not to take my anti-depressants lately, but mostly it's just because i have nothing, really, to look forward to, and, pretty much, not much more to look back on.And it's too damn hot to go outside and do anything. And i can't afford to go to nice air-conditioned movies.Not that there are many i'd bother to go to.Back in the last years of my first marriage, when she and i were both working and we had two cars (and gas cost less and my car got 35 MPG), when i started feeling like this, i'd take off for a weekend trip to New Orleans or Durham NC or something like that.Or i'd hook up with my grlfriend, and we'd hit the clubs every night for a week or so.Well, the clubs are almost seventy miles away now. And i have no idea what or who is playing these days.And my friends that worked at some of the clubs have disappeared - hell, the clubs i used to love to go to have disappeared.And i'm bored.And i'm old.And i'm *tired*.Not physically tired, but i am *so* tired.And i'm bginning to be afraid that, somewhere in the foreseeable if not eminent future, i may need surgery on the other knee.And i just don't know if i can keep on a'marchin' anymore...
You can still find a job, go out and talk to a friend. On the back of every magazine there are those coupons you can send. Why don't you join the Rosicrucians, they can give you back your hope, you can find your love with diagrams on a plain brown envelope. But you've used up all your coupons except the one that seems to be written on your wrist along with several thousand dreams. Now Santa Claus comes forward, that's a razor in his mitt; and he puts on his dark glasses and he shows you where to hit; and then the cameras pan, the stand in stunt man, dress rehearsal rag, it's just the dress rehearsal rag, you know this dress rehearsal rag, it's just a dress rehearsal rag.
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