Sunday Scribblings: An Odd Case of Aging

I will celebrate my 67th birthday tomorrow. My mother will attend. And my grandparents. No friends, though. I haven’t kept any during the short time I’ve been alive.

I don’t have any wants, per se. With my body the way it is, wants are too expensive. I gave up trying to be current years ago.

I worked my last job at age 60. A lead in the stockroom at Walmart. My boss told me I would have made a good manager if I could have worked longer than 10 years.

It’s funny that there were no other side effects from my birth. The doctors said they couldn’t predict the outcome but offered my mother gobs of money for trying the experiment. I still have no idea why she agreed. But I have my opinions.

I never made it through school; I just couldn’t learn all they wanted me to learn in the time I had. Not to mention the fact that the kids insulted me incessantly. I studied at home instead. My grandmother helped me. Taught me to read and write. I can’t much help that the majority of my reading comes from books about saints. I once thought that God put me here for a reason, like he did those people with the halos. Then, I realized that I was just a science experiment. Gone wrong.

The experiment that begot me was not even the most remarkable happening on the day I was born. No, half way across the world, Dolly the Sheep was cloned. An experiment that meant something to the greater world of science. I did no such good in the scientific community.

The best day of my life had to be the turn of the millennium. I was to turn 30 just a day later. And so, I spent the remainder of my 20s living it up in New York City. Danced. Drank. Ended up in some woman’s bed.

I only have one night stands. For their sake and mine. It doesn’t make sense to get close to anyone. I have no idea if this is genetic. And if it is, then I sure as hell am not going to pass it on. And even if it wasn’t, I just don’t have the time to learn someone. It just isn’t worth it.

I believe in love at first sight. It’s the only way it can work for me. But it doesn’t believe in me.

I only expect to live a few more years. Doctors tell me about three. I find it funny that I might outlive my grandparents. I’ve heard my grandmother call it unnatural when talking to my mother. I am unnatural, after all.

As short as they seem, however, these 13 years have constituted a long life. I’m amazed at what I’ve accomplished; so much more than the average person. Out of necessity. I have no regrets as it were. None for which I’m responsible, that is. If I could change anything, I’d ask my mother not to involve herself in the experiment that mixed her egg and a dog’s sperm.