See, there were times when the second day of August in years past would approach, I would laugh in its face. Not only would I laugh, but I would go to certain places where I seek refuge to show Father Time that it had no place in my life.
I would go to a basketball court, grab a ball, do a drop-step and dunk with ease. On my way down after my ascent to the rim, a Kevin Garnett-type howl would emerge from my soul as if to tell the world, "ANOTHER AUGUST 2ND COMING AINT SHIT TO A REAL NIGGA LIKE ME!!!"
In other instances, it would take the form of doing something that would require me to use a level of mental capacity that would still not feel like it was doing much of anything. Pen to paper, fingertips to keys and words, sentences, paragraphs and stories would develop, all the while laughing at mortality and saying "This is nothing. I was born for this."
Maybe, the signs were evident, though; the signs that Father Time was on his way. I played softball during the spring with some of my co-workers from the job, and in a three-week span, I pulled my right and my left hamstring. Sure, I had never played softball in my life, but to an athlete, a sport is a sport, and outside of twisting an ankle here or there, getting injured wasn't in my repertoire.
In the most publicized case, for the past year, I've started to be in the bed by 8 every night, because I have to be at work in the morning, and not only do I have to be at work in the morning, I "have" to work out in the morning before work, which means I have to be up much earlier. Anyway, in past times, I could sleep for 3-4 hours a night and function all day long, no strides broken, full of enthusiasm, joy and happiness.
Now? Shit, let me get three hours of sleep and go to work the next day. I'll end up being the most miserable person to be around, because I'll be so damn tired from the night before, and sure, a lot of this can be attributed to me being a working square again (prior to the end of last August, I was unemployed for two years), but still.
Then, I started to forget little shit; well, that's always been a problem of mine. As is the case with human nature, I remembered what I chose to remember and forgot everything else. However, with Father Time knocking, maybe I'm starting to forget stuff that I really want to remember and just can't.
I can only attribute it to one thing: August 2, 2012. Father Time will finally have the upper hand on me, and since it looks like that is the case, then I need to be as prepared as possible, even if there's not much I can do to stop it.
7/14/12 @ 7:07 P.M.
