How Did I Get So Old?

I have often had this picture of retirement where I would sit by the fireplace reading some great novel and considering its impacts and ramifications with the dogs at my feet. Well, today, as I write my final essays for that wonderful (and by wonderful, I mean great class—awful teacher) Greek Tragedy In Translation class I have taken this semester, I realized that I have pretty much done exactly that all day.

So far, I have examined the three Theban plays by Sophocles (Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Colonus, and Antigone) and looked at how they could possibly be viewed as a blessing rather than a tragedy. Is it me or is that totally a stupid essay question. Let's see…a man kills his father, marries his mother, discovers this fact, blinds himself, goes to exile and ruins the lives of all his children/siblings. Yep, that is definitely a blessing. Totally a blessing. Not a stretch at all to make that answer happen. Now, I am getting ready to show what Aeschylus had in mind in the Oresteia. By the way, if you know the answer to that, please post it in the comments. That would help me a great deal.

So back to the old part. Yeah. Did I mention I have classical music playing. Just a little Yo-Yo Ma or Itzhak Perlman as background noise. Seriously, I might as well be smoking a pipe. Gross. If it weren't for Gilda's occasional squawks, this dreary day would totally be peaceful. Just as I imagined my twilight years. Surely, these aren't my twilight years. I have to make it at least another forty to take care of Gilda and Loco. Shit. What if these are my twilight years and God decided not to be vengeful and give them to me to enjoy? Wow. This entry just took a morbid turn. I did not see that coming.

For the sake of sanity (or insanity as the case may be), I will assume I have not entered my twilight years. God is not that vengeful. There is no way Shlomo could handle the upkeep on our menagerie by himself. After all, I think we are just a baby goat away from having our own petting zoo.