I had a puppy who would sometimes start running in a circle in the living room, making a sound something like "hashhashhash" while he did so. He'd just run and make that sound. He'd do it for upwards of 10 minutes at a time, which may not seem like much, but why don't you set a stopwatch for 10 minutes and literally just run in a circle in your living room while growling to yourself. After two minutes you'll feel thoroughly insane. He loved it, though. Or he was very angry but felt he needed to do it. Either way, he stuck with it, and I admire that about him. But I also envy his ability to do something so pointlessly exhausting.
I like to think that when I was a kid I probably had that kind of energy. I recall doing insane shit like trying to climb cliffs and riding a bicycle off a pier, then swimming back to shore fighting the undertow for the stupid bike so I could do it again. Once I even rolled down a hill inside a garbage can, apparently to see how much I could puke in a single sitting. It was a lot. Now when I wake up in the morning, I want to have a sit down because getting up seems like a lot of effort.
Meeting at 4? Sounds great, I'll sleep until then.
You don't want to be tired when you get older. I know I have a hell of a lot of exhaustion ahead of me still; I'm not that old, but it starts creeping up on you. You did all that dumb shit when you were young, and now it's catching up to you with blown knees and carpal tunnel and a sore lower back. And most of that was probably caused by masturbating, which you can't do anymore because of that pill thing. Unless you're a woman, of course, and my knowledge of nearly expired lady parts tells me they often wind up dried out like figs and in need of gels and various lubricants from your local pharmacist to help get the ol' pig whistle nestled into place for that once-yearly gruntaluffagus stomp your parents call "getting romantic."
At the end of the day, whatever effort you put in to being active and doing things isn't so much a reward as it is the cost of not being a human turnip. Really, all you want to do for fun is just sit in a nice, comfy chair. And, on weekends, that's just what you do. Your weekends are when you do nothing and you like it, as opposed to the week, when you do nothing and you hate it. God, what happened to you? Time, man. Time and shittiness.
Now, lest you all run off to the comments to question the decade in which I was born and then to tell me of your septuagenarian Aunt Myrtle who still rides emus competitively, you need to remember this is cultivated from years of working in offices where I am routinely the youngest person by double digits. I suspect maybe even triple in some cases. I once worked with a man so old that he had an embroidered pocket square to go with every suit he wore to work, and every suit he wore was a different, full-on three-piece and made from the wool of some kind of ruminant that had been hunted to extinction by the Micmacs. He was my secret Santa one year, and his gift to me was a shaving kit featuring Brut cologne, a brush, and that cup you used to make lather in for shaving. Do you even know what I'm talking about? Have you even seen that thing in real life outside of a museum or a movie about Al Capone? It's about as modern as a Victrola, or Cher. That's how old this man was. Fuckin' old.
So is your fate sealed? Of course not. Look at Nina Hartley -- she's 55, and she still makes porno. You're not limited by age, you just need to be aware of it. Be prepared for the shitty things it wants to do to you, like making you wash your driveway or keep hard candy on the table. No one wants hard candy. They wanted it back when sugar was first invented. Now we have peanut butter cups. Fuck hard candy. You hear that, old people? Fuck hard candy.
For more from Felix, check out 3 Shortcuts to Not Being a Terrible Person. And then check out If Tattoos Actually Told the Truth.