Change Available Only After Eclosion

I like psychology.

The one thing I have learned for sure is almost everything you think you know about yourself is wrong. And when you figure something out, you change.

Forced change is difficult.

All of a sudden, everything reminds of the clock’s ticking.

I moan about my impending grand-fatherhood. I moan about no longer getting random offers for overpriced weed. I moan about being asked if I am retired.

“Really?”

“Four times.”

Time to grow up. Stop cigarettes, save money, move.

Sexual maturity precedes mature sexuality. It makes for a rotten fable: The hare wins too often.

Facts continually come along to teach me humility. I avoid schooling by learning as many as I can.

I am getting closer to the finish line.

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Ten-Thirty PM

The train brings me closer to home. I relive lunch.

I am not ready. Is it a gift? It is good news I do not want to hear.

“There’s something I want to show you.”

She hands me a package. I undo the wrapping.

“Turn it over.”

I know what it’s going to say. Reluctantly I obey. There it is. At the end of some other words. In a cute font: GRANDFATHER.

In my mind, it is all about me. I try to make the right noises and absentmindedly hand back the baby bodysuit.

Grey hair, age milestones. I survived those without difficulty. The start of a new generation is the one milestone that makes me feel categorically old.

The announcer tells me to make sure to take all my belongings.

Undated

A mirror.

How long since I last defined what I want to write in my journal?

I’m sure the last time was not as long ago as I imagine.

Capture the memories before they change! Avoid mental masturbation! Observe! Capture the moment!

Real time memories aren’t real-time. Either I’m creating them or writing about them.

Stream of consciousness? My sitting and writing limits the stream.

Go Gonzo? Record everything?