The Dragon turned 25 recently, though she wasn't happy about it. Apparently one has no choice in the matter of aging, no matter how bitterly you might complain about it to the relevant authorities. So, I decided instead of brooding to accept it gracefully, and embrace all the wonderful things that are supposed to be the plus side of rushing headlong to your death.
There weren't very many, and some of them did sound suspiciously like old people trying to hard to sound cheerful, but there was one certainly that caught my interest and that I was very eager to incorporate into my aged-ness.
I was told that as one got older the drama, the incessant love-lust drama of ones youth faded away, and was replaced with calm, rational wisdom. The raging emotions (or hormones, lets be honest), the do or die compulsions, the deep, soul-wrenching anguish, the uncertainty, the triple guessing, the 'should I fucking call him or would that be too needy' debates that keep you awake at night would all disappear. You wouldn't have to wonder, you would know.
HAH.
What rubbish. There are no advantages to growing old at all.
(So seriously, call him? Not call him? Call him? No, maybe not. Or perhaps I should. No, no stupid idea. But...)
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