Friday, 15 July 2011
The Ravages of Time
Having had my night's sleep cut short once again, this time by the local Tom cat uttering the most hideous sounds I've ever heard at the top stretch of his lungs, and this, at three am, I am less than sparkling today.
If I were not an insomniac of the first water even this 10 decibel urban serenade might have merely made a brief break in my night's slumber, but since sleep, once woken, is never retrievable for me I do not appreciate even the most operatic of moggies' finest efforts.
I filled a glass jar which i keep in the office (more on that later) with water and chucked it in the direction of the 'music'. There was a scuffle and then, silence.
Too late for me, but at least some of the neighbours probably managed to go back to sleep.
Peering into the mirror at about 5.30am I was struck by two things, firstly that my left eye was blood-shot, and the second even more depressing thought was "oh boy, do you look old".
Never fond of examining my face at length I tend to go for quite long periods without really seeing what I look like, then suddenly I find myself facing this baggy-eyed, hollow cheeked old face with lines where there never were (or at least not that I'd noticed)
Overweight by five stones for at least 25 years, I had the single advantage of that state, which is a smooth unlined face.
Now, having lost that five stones I find my face is really showing my true age as never before.
Add too little sleep on a regular basis, to the equation and there you have a perfect candidate for a halloween mask. "They flee from me that sometime did me seek".
I know we all to some degree fall to bits as we age, but it is quite hard to accept that - on a good day - feeling bright and healthy and about 30 years old, - the exterior and interior versions differ quite considerably.
Oh yes, and that glass jar in the office (otherwise known as the 'little room', box room or very unrealistically the third bedroom), is part of my 'painting' equipment.
When I retired I decided that one of the things I'd like to do was learn to paint, watercolours for preference.
Accordingly I started to collect a series of magazines, an entire course for beginners, with the added bonus of one free tube of paint or a brush or pastel with each issue.
For about 18 months I collected this stuff, bought a small easel stored it all in 'the office', and there it remains to this day, untouched by human hand, except for the use of the glass paint-brush water jar.