The annual visit to the doctor. Analysis of the various components listed, observation of the losses suffered; the machine ages, slowly, inexorably as the saying goes.
We will have to increase the dose of certain drugs to control this, that; we will have to reduce our already low alcohol consumption, avoid things that are too fat, be satisfied with fewer food pleasures, do not work too hard, do not get too tired. Saturn, the god of old age, imposes his rules. You will get older if you put into perspective the delicacies offered to young people.
Still happy to be healthy, even lucky to visit the doctor only for routine old age. I know the past of my ancestors, I could project my future since, statistically speaking, I am heading towards congenital disorders. But my future here is getting blurry. People die of almost anything and at any age among the previous generation. I secretly envy people who will live to be a hundred, their eyes still bright, and their appetite will not make them grow. But that’s where the comparison ends. As neither the past nor the future are of any help to me, I might as well fall back on this present that is running away from me. If it is necessary to put the importance of health first, there is no point in forgetting that happiness has its source in the pleasure of living. And, on this side, abundance reigns, since the hours are offered to me like so many generous sirens.
I have things to do, some will say it occupies my mind. We can say anything, interpret everything, surf on more implacable analyses than a doctor’s sermon. We can sit comfortably on the already very faded laurels of the past, salivating sickly on the promises of the future always younger than us. We can, more courageously, dress in the simple chasuble of the present, and live what we are, as a devotee subject to what he will never understand.
From this, I base my certainties. I walk on an ocean of possibilities.