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Well I know what you mean. But then again I probably don't. Anything along these lines is invariably going to be purely subjective and, and this case, my reply is bound to say more about my own depression about life, the universe and everything than it probably does about yours.
What's the date... the 28th of January. In 2 days I will be having another birthday and I will officially be an old bastard, again. Not, as your post clearly illustrates, a Scottish one but half so, only with a srong (apparently) Australian accent. Having only been to Scotland 3 times I feel like a fraud claiming heritage but that's how genes work I guess.
I look in the mirror and I see me. That's it, just me as I've pretty much always seen myself. I have a photo of myself in a frame in a drawer in a cupboard and in it I had the hair that was fashionable in the 80's at the time and that's the best I ever looked. To me, I still look like that, or, at least, I still think I could if it hadn't been about 8 years since the last time I set foot inside a hairdressing salon.
I'm not the guy sitting at his regular bar stool, I'm the guy playing pool at his regular table. I'm the guy doing his regular wander around the neighbourhood shops where nobody knows my name or what I do. I'm the guy on nodding terms with everyone in the local design industry but, again, nobody could tell you who I am. I stand out, everyone knows they've seen me before and hardly anyone knows a thing about me but everyone knows someone who knows me and they probably all have a story to tell about that hairy beardy guy who just nodded at them who's been around forever.
I quite like it that way. It's easier than trying to remember everyone elses name, a task at which I am absolutlely crap at due to a massive lack of interest.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I see death too, but it amuses me now.
I expect a large turnout at the funeral, full of people who say "oh, is THAT his name! |
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