Master of the Tall Tale

There was a time when I felt ten feet tall, but now I feel ten feet small.

Back when I was young, I had friends and people knew me. We talked, laughed, and shared our thoughts.

I walked with a pep in my step, a smile on my face, and with no concern for the days ahead.

Time had no meaning. Growing old and money were the least of my worries.

I wanted to see the world, and I believed the world wanted to see me.

I hurried from place to place and wasted away the days as if they would never end.

It was amazing to be unconscious of my surroundings, and negligent of my future.

Regret was a misunderstanding, not something to be dwelt upon.

Being young was great, or so I thought.

Time marched forward and as each year passes, I feel  insignificant and unseen.

My list of friends is fewer, and making new ones is very difficult.

My pace is slower, I rarely smile, and I worry too much about the days ahead.

Weather and money are all I think about and time presses hard against me.

I have many of memories of my crazy life and of them all, I have only one regret - about a girl I should not have left.

I no longer hurry, and I waste away the days wondering if my life had worth.

It feels horrible to be old, ever conscious of the inevitable waning future.

We are all unique

Then again, maybe it's good to be old and perhaps I could be revered as a walking, talking genius of life.

At the tavern, I'll babble on for hours about the incredible wonders of the world; weave unbelievable and inconceivable tales with vast fantastical claims of great achievements, because only I will know the truth of my accomplishments. I will become the master of stories, and I shall speak them with vivid imagination and use lots of old clichés.

Oh, there will be those who shall try to refute my yarns, but I will stand firm, brandishing my oldness and my wit to slay their Google master.

The information age is upon us and all seek the truth in everything. But truth is just a fact, absent of personality and character that a clever old story teller can and would gladly furnish the garnish.

“It ain’t over till the old frog croaks!”

j/k