I start wondering, should I've told them how a sandwich and a cup of coffee tastes like? 'snort, snort' Well, right now I need a cup myself and try to undo my brains a bit.(If ther's some brains left to undo.)
It feels like the more information I read the more knowledge I loose. My goodness, I'm not THAT old ! (52).
I think the best ting to do is to continue writing and perhaps do a bit linking too. See, a little bit has stuck to my brains after all. When looking to all this technical stuff, I have to admit that I'm feeling a bit related to the person refered to below. I hope you don't mind a "little" poem.
Snapped from The Shetland Times some years ago. It's called:
I'm very well, thank you.
There's nothing the matter with me,
I'm as healthy as I can be.
I have arthritis in both my knees,
and when I talk - I talk with a wheeze.
My puls is weak, and my blood is thin,
But - I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.-
Arch supports I have for my feet,
Or I wouldn't be able to be out on the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find I'm alright.
My memory is failing, my head's in a spin,
But, I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.-
The moral is this - as my tale I unfold,
That for you and me who are getting old,
It's better to say 'I'm fine' with a grin,
Than to let folks know the shape we are in.
How do I know that my youth is all spent?
Well, my 'get up and go' has got up and went.
But I really don't mind when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places my 'got up' has bin.-
Old age is golden I've heard it said,
but sometimes I wonder as I get into bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My specs on a table until I get up.
'Ere sleep overtakes me I say to myself,
is there anything else I could lay on the shelf?-
When I was young my slippers were red,
I could kick my heels right over my head.
When I was older my slippers were blue,
But I still could dance the whole night through.
Now I am old my slippers are black,
I walk to the shop and puff my way back,
I get up each morning and dust of my wits,
and pick up the paper to read the 'obits',
If my name is still missing I know I'm not dead;
And so I have breakfast and - go back to bed.