Any moment now, I expect a big swatch of hair to sprout out of my left ear. Lately, I've had this urge to hitch my pants up to my armpits. Every now and then, I find myself wandering the streets of Grand Island until one of our finest in blue finds me and escorts me back to the newspaper building. I'm just kidding. I no longer pull out gray hairs when they sprout.
Every strand is valuable.
The ground seems to be farther away than the last time I reached down to pick something up. Every now and then, I detect a glassy-eyed stare from someone and realize I'm repeating a story that I must have told to the individual. Most of my friends are in bed before 10 p.m. My socks don't always match. People are starting to talk to me in a louder tone of voice.