Old Men In Sports Cars

I just finished flipping the calendar to March I keep a paper one hanging on my kitchen wall despite everything being digital I’m old school some would say How is it each day I’m at work every minute I'm there passes like an old woman with a walker running a marathon while months and years fly by like fighter jets breaking the sound barrier Life is like that ride at the amusement park shaped like a silo that spins slowly at first, the velocity incrementally increasing until the world becomes a blur finding yourself pressed against the wall by an unseen force unable to move a muscle without exerting extreme effort My birthday is a little more than two months away I don’t feel old or look anything like I imagined (and feared) I would when I was in my early twenties and forty seemed like such an ancient age I'm older than my parents were when they became grandparents making my entrance into this world when they were only teenagers in the early hours of that late May morning I was a bit older though too young as well when I took up the mantle of mother When you have no hope you cling to anyone that pays attention in order to feel you have any worth that you matter to someone even if only for a few precious minutes I’m reminded of men I’ve seen who are likely in their sixties their silver hair, if they have any at all, blowing in the wind as they race down the road behind the wheel of a brand new expensive sports car they had aspired to own since they were sixteen but can only now afford to buy who will soon find themselves waking up to the fact that some dreams left unfulfilled for too long grow stale realizing it isn't the thrill it would have been back then when women would have paid equal attention to both car and driver each complimenting the other instead of such a stark contrast reselling it a year or two later concluding it’s not worth the expense investing those funds in a pre-paid funeral and life insurance