It's an inevitability. Get two or more men of a certain age—say between 45 and 60 years old—and they will find their conversational way into complaints about getting older.

From the obvious How Is It That I Can No longer Eat as Many Carbs to the I Hurt My Back Sitting in a Fucking Chair Yesterday it is the point in life when the slow decay of the body comes as a bit of a surprise.

…that when you say "Age is just a number" my feet and lower back wanna sock you repeatedly in the junk until you acknowledge that age is decay and decay is the ever approaching sound of mortality. Maybe lose the "just." "Age is a number" is more true and less damning of the fact I'm wearing bifocals.

Ask around.

When you dream, how old are you in that strange, dusky landscape called your subconscious? Do you know? Does anyone, really?

I don't remember a lot of my dreams. I sleep like a wood carving or a stone tablet. When I'm out, I am out. But when I do remember my dreams, I can't recall what age I may be. It always seems a bit like I'm physically all over the place but mentally the age I am now (which some might argue is about 13). How old should I be?