The Very Odd and Mishappen World of Arnold Knickerbocker

I haven't looked at myself in the mirror in ages. As I get older, my vanity takes a hit and my ego gets crushed as I see the youthfulness that was my face or my body replaced with dark spots and signs of aging. My facial hair (which never really quite grew in well enough when I was a strapping 20 year old) is now growing at an alarming rate and plagues with patches of white and grey hairs. Ten years ago I used to think that the salt and pepper look that I was starting to go through was somewhat sexy. Now I see how it has taken over the entire color scheme of my face and I am thoroughly devastated. I can't help but feel like what I see reflected back on me is nothing more than an aged, morbidly obese, sloth of a man. Even though behind that facade the person inside of me is still that youthful soul. And so I cringe. With every new mole or freckle. Each time my skin develops some new irritation to modern living or I find that my ass is no longer small enough to fit on the toilet seat comfortably. In an instant I went from being in the center of a world that couldn't stop singing the praises of my youth and generation to being old. I became irrelevent. I became forgetable. Like I almost never really existed.

Time changes a person. I used to think that I was going to matter to my friends and family much more than what actually occurred over the years. I thought that meeting someone would be as simple as going to a public place, finding someone who I found (and who found me) attractive, starting up a conversation about a myriad of random things and relishing in simple commonalities that we shared. At some point we would date, have sex, make love, make plans for our future, fight the good (and bad) fight, set a date to get married, make a commitment, find a place, build a home, build a life, maybe get a pet, maybe adopt a child (or 3), make a difference, participate in life, participate in growth, participate in each other, celebrate our victories, mourn our losses, accept or path, grow old together, reflect on our family, then die. That was my plan. That was what time had granted me to think and plan on. And time, being the fickle motherfucker that he is, enjoyed throwing the monkey wrenches and hammers into any and all plans that I made until one day I gave up and told time "what do you want from me?"

Time wanted all of me. Not just to sit and reflect on what it was that I was missing out on or what I had already missed out on. Time wanted me to loathe myself. Time wanted me to watch and surrender all of those things that I could have in order to teach me a lesson that I don't remember signing up for. If we reap what we soe, and I lived a life of reaping because that is what all humans do, then why was I being forced to soe for the decisions in my life if I didn't see any benefits and I didn't wrong anyone? No, no, no, time wanted a patsy. Time wanted to make a mockery of a fool that could not get out of his own head to save his life, in order to teach the world "this is what happens when you disgrace the balance of the universe!" Through reflection, introspection, degredation, and self deprication, time was hellbent on showing me the error of my ways and to correct my train of thought. I was not, I am not, in control. And whether or not I like it, time doesn't have time for me. I am not that important. I am not that consequential. I am not the person that you (my supposed audience) will remember as someone of reputable means. Only time will tell what I am supposed to do or who I am supposed to be, but I am running out of it. The hour-glass is no longer in my favor, not that it ever was, because time has its own agenda. Regardless of how I manage it, I am not in control.