Wisdom by far is supposed to get better with age.
I thought I would get wiser as I grew older. Instead I gained more knowledge and thought more power meant more edge in life and the freedom to do whatever I wanted and whenever I please. But that sense of freedom remained only in my mind. For example, “Coach John” is cute. He is smart; quite an extrovert and good with kids. I like knowing that as an available single bachelorette (whose fugly photos are best left to the CGI folks to create a more beautiful version of model-like beauty). While I am wise enough to know better than to corrupt the youngling with my “experience” as an older fart who’s loaded, not with constipation but with lots of dough, which is waiting in the oven to be cooked and such, his spirit to be a role model to his younger followers has much potential. It’s funny to say the least considering how us “Asians” could be mistaken as Mexicans by either namesake (like mine) or by visage (like his).
Wine, too, is supposed to get better with age.
I thought I would know how to take care of myself but that’s proving to be futile for lack of knowledge and thought of beautifications, both of hair, clothing and attitude, which reeks like last week’s ingestion of asparagus. Instead, I’m fermenting from eating the wrong types of food and lacking proper nutrition thereof; by sitting down the whole day AND night in front of the computer and getting fat in areas of the buttocks, thighs and tummy; and through thinking pessimistically most of the time about humanity’s progression back into the past as wild beasts; and behaving rather childish with nonconformist traits and other immature bevahiors, such as farting, burping and cutting my nails while at work. I am no better than wine, a person who gets drunk on passions of fleeting but trifle thoughts ranging from random events to other non-personal issues, which I take personally and rant on my weblog here.
Both wisdom and wine, however, tend to age. Depending on the individiual, one can age either gracefully like a ballerina dancing effortless through the air or a swan swimming slowly through the water or awkwardly like a drunken puppet moving uncontrollably without thinkiing or a cataonic scarecrow standing silently without breathing. Nothing gets better with age. Age is decay. Decay leads to death. Death leads to nothingness. And that’s how I image age to be: nothingness, despite New Agers who spew nonsense about astral bodies existing in spiritual realms but short of pure consciousness. I don’t know who the living would care what the dying would know what’s life when death is age itself.
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Topic #56: What gets better with age? Bonuses: 1) What is something you thought would get better with age, that didn’t? 2) What is something you thought wouldn’t get better with age, that did?
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