The Whole Thing's Illusion, [jacob],

It's As Though I've Been Sleepwalking And Suddenly Woken To Find Myself Here

Honey, I Plan To Marry You The Moment The Ink Is Dry On That Death Certificate.

But It All Zipped By. One Minute Marlena And I Were Up To Our Eyeballs, And The Next Thing We Knew The Kids Were Borrowing The Car And Fleeing The Coop For College. And Now, Here I Am. In My Nineties And Alone.

I Hate This Bizarre Policy Of Protective Exclusion, Because It Effectively Writes Me Off The Page.

When You Are Five, You Know Your Age Down To The Month. Even In Your Twenties, You Know How Old You Are. I'm Twenty-three You Say, Or Maybe Twenty-seven. But Then In Your Thirties, Something Strange Starts To Happen. It Is A Mere Hiccup At First, An Instant Of Hesitation. How Old Are You? Oh, I'm--you Start Confidently, But Then You Stop. You Were Going To Say Thirty-three, But You Are Not. You're Thirty-five. And Then You're Bothered, Because You Wonder If This Is The Beginning Of The End. It Is, Of Course, But It's Decades Before You Admit It.