I suppose we should be thankful that aging is such a gradual process, that the day-to-day indignities build up so slowly we hardly notice the cumulative effect of all those years. For instance, I’m sure I wake up every day hurting, but I couldn’t tell you how much. It’s like a bad smell you slowly get used to so that you no longer worry about it unless you have company coming, which makes me wonder what my nineteen-year-old self might think if he were to be suddenly dropped into my 49-year-old body, what he would say after the screaming stopped.
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