IN MY YOUNGER years, a long long LONG time ago, I could shrug off a day of fun and a night of revelry without problem.
Ahhh. The Younger Years. Hold on to them and don't blink.
Anyway, getting old reared its ugly head Saturday night at my Uncle Peter's place, when I fell asleep in mid-strum playing guitar. Two hours of sleep after a Cheeseburger show and spending an afternoon in the sun with lemonade is to blame.
Sunday night it was the same thing. After hanging out at Spirit Knob Winery and having a wonderful time with Sheryl, we invited our friends Nick and Lori over with their grandson Cole to grill and cap a great weekend. By 9:30, my ugly mug was disappearing behind a giant yawn. They are great company and we had a lot of fun, but I was dead to the world by 10.
"You, my friend," said my wise Uncle Peter, "are getting older."
Right. I get that. So why don't I take better care of myself and maybe sneak a nap in, or drink one less beverage, or splash cold water on my face?
I'm not that smart, I guess.
Bring it on, old age. I turn 50 in less than three months.
As Frank Haxel likes to put it, "We'll sleep when we are dead."
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