Just who strapped this rocket on my back?

I don’t remember aging as fast as I have. In fact I don’t actually think I have aged to the age it says I am on my birth certificate, government ID or any other official document with my birth date on it. But, on the other hand there are becoming these little subtle bits and pieces of evidence to the contrary such as the backs of my hands, those little lines around my eyes and of course that dreaded extra flabby body I have apparently grown right under my chest. That would be bad enough and I might believe it was really me if I could only have any memory of it actually happening.

Here’s what I think. I believe with all of my heart and soul plus that little part of me that likes to fantasize that while I was sleeping one night some being that nobody has ever seen (because he or she is just so damned sneaky) snuck into my room and strapped a rocket to my back. Not that back that everyone sees as I walk away from them, oh no. It’s that back that is in the aging process. You know that back, don’t you? Well, if you don’t know about that back then you have either not been paying any attention or you’re just a kid and you’ll find out soon enough.

Anyway, that being strapped a rocket to my aging process back and off I went. ZOOM! And here I am, all forty-nine years worth of a shell of the young, viral man I once was. It isn’t as if I look anything like an old, wrinkled, elderly coot or something. Nope, I’m just suddenly forty-nine according to my birth certificate and other supporting documents. I also have acquired some thing without my consent such as the backs of my fathers hands, those little wrinkles that my mother had right beside her mouth and gray hair. GRAY HAIR? When the hell did I get gray hair? I don’t have a lot of gray hair. I just have some gray hair and I didn’t consent to getting just one of the bastards.

Another bit of this rocket strapped to my back scam is the fact that I can’t do the things I have always been able to do with no sweat at all…the rocket effect.

For example: I can no longer run like a kid. I used to be able to run like the wind. Now I run like a bank safe…..the rocket effect.

I used to be able to impress certain women with my ‘in bed abilities’. I won’t get to overly specific here because, well, it’s embarrassing me to even write this let alone go into detail. Now I’m lucky if I can impress the staple in a centerfold. I’ll leave it at that so use your imagination. I have to if you know what I mean. If not you will some day…..the rocket effect.

I used to be able to spot flies having sex at twenty yards. Now I have to wear glasses to see an elephant masturbating at ten yards. OK, that’s a little over the wall there, but you get the point…..the rocket effect.

There was a time when my body didn’t put off real rank smelling sweat. Now as soon as I’m done taking a shower I have to get back in the shower and start over or I start smelling again or so it seems anyway.

This once viral, young man used to be able to lift twice his body weight without to much strain. HA! Yeah, sure…..the rocket effect.

For a very long time my jeans were size 30/30. That’s a 30 inch waist and a 30 inch inseam. Since my legs are still about the same length the inseam is still about the same, but my waist is another story entirely. The sad part is I don’t eat more than I used to. I eat less. But, it keeps on growing anyway….the rocket effect.

And, you know…Once upon a time I carried a seventy pound backpack across the city of Little Rock and now I kind of doubt I can even lift that backpack…empty let alone loaded down with all of my worldly belongings. And I couldn’t even fit all of my worldly belongings in that backpack anymore. I’ve acquired much, much more than the rocket effect and it’s little goodies over the years. Where the heck would a queen size bed fit in a backpack?….the rocket effect.

Well, there it is. Some sneaky bastard, man or woman, I don’t know, strapped a rocket on my aging process back one night and here I sit at this old computer telling you all about this sad excuse of a life no thanks to…the rocket effect. Oh well. It could be worse. It could have blasted me all the way into my drooling years. I’ll keep you posted on that.