Monday, March 9, 2015

Some Maintenance Required

When I was very young, I awoke each morning, sprang out of bed, and raced past a kitchen counter that had absolutely nothing on it with my name attached. There was not one thing there for me to swallow, inject, insert or apply in an effort to fix whatever ailed me. Like a car just off the assembly line, everything about me was brand spanking new and worked perfectly. No maintenance required. I had plenty of get-up-and-go under the hood, and even though I was rough on my body, chassis, engine and transmission,  I spent no time in the repair shop. It seemed that whatever I did or did not do did not matter; I was indestructible.

Not one thing for me to swallow, inject, insert or apply 


When I was thirty-something, I awoke each morning, climbed out of bed, and jogged past a kitchen counter that held my daily dose of undisciplined indulgence. Like a car with a few years on it, everything still worked pretty good, but not perfect. There was some maintenance required, but I didn't take the time or make the effort. I still had sufficient power under the hood, and even though I was rough on my body, chassis, engine and transmission, I spent little time in the repair shop. It seemed that whatever I did or did not do did not matter; I was still invincible.


...and there waiting for me was my undisciplined indulgence. 

When I was sixty-something, I carefully eased myself out of bed and slowly shuffled into the kitchen. There, on the counter all lined up and standing at attention waiting for me, were a long line of daily doses of consequences for having lived six decades ignoring the maintenance manual that came with me. Like an older model car with little effort given throughout the years to required care, everything about me (or so it seemed) was needing repair. My body, chassis, engine and transmission were now spending a lot of time in the shop. It seems that whatever I did or did not do really did matter after all.


My daily dose of consequences


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