I am old. And it is true that I am not as old as the Rolling Stones. After all, they are living proof that prehistoric fossils can actually still sing. But I am nearing the end. My health is rapidly deteriorating. And while medical technology has advanced worldwide, and is probably the only reason I have lived for 60 years, the cost of that technology to Americans is beyond what I can afford. I am living now in a house that I saw in my dreams back in college. In that dream from when I was twenty, I saw myself sitting in an easy chair that is now in this house. The sky outside was pale orange. And an angel came to me and said, “This is it. This is the end. You must come with me.”
So I am expecting the angel any day now.
But there is so much in this life, in this world, left unfinished. I have novels left to write, and novels I have written that still are not published.
Page Publishing has my Magical Miss Morgan book and I have to argue now with editors to keep them from totally mangling it. They even want to change Miss to Ms. in the title! Don’t they know that kids never say Ms. to a female teacher? Will the angel have to wait while I labor through the process of correcting those danged ding-batty word-misers?
And the Arizona football Cardinals have not won a championship in the NFL since 1947, nine years before I was born. I wanted to see them win once before I leave with that angel. But the team that was practically unbeatable last year lost their seventh game this year to the Dolphins yesterday, and are probably defunct for this year. It would take a miracle now for them to get funct again and make the playoffs. Maybe I have to put the angel off for another football season.
And the world has ended in 2016. The Great Orange Face has won the battle for leader of the free world. He will institute policies that will make him richer, but will kill me, and eventually destroy life on Earth. And remember, the Cubs won a World Series again, 108 years after the goat curse was set upon them. The four horsemen of the Apocalypse are dusting off their saddles right now, and the pale guy is sharpening his scythe. How can I leave behind such a world for my children? The angel is getting impatient and tapping his foot quite a lot.
So, I am really not satisfied quite yet with the way things are going. The Rolling Stones have some sort of secret going for them. They are never satisfied according to the song. So maybe that is what is keeping them still singing after most of them have already died and simply refuse to lay down, get buried, and keep quiet. Maybe I need to learn to sing.