Once, I was younger than everyone else in the world.
I swirled along, like a cork in a river, bobbling about, hindering nobody and noticed by nobody.
Then I grew up and, for a while there, had the illusion that I was in control of my life, and could make a difference, constructive or otherwise (I always hoped, constructive, but far too much of the time it didn't turn out that way), to the lives of others.
Now I'm 62 and I swirl along, like a cork in a river, bobbling about, hindering nobody and noticed by nobody.
This morning I collected from my local pharmacy the medicines - well, most of them: I'll need some aspirin as well - which will be needed to keep me more or less healthy for the next three months. That's right: what you're looking at in the photograph below is a quarter of the medicines I need each year now.
Nine different medications were involved, and they came in a bag the size of a football. As I returned from the pharmacy I wondered whether the size of the package would go on increasing over time. If it does, and knowing that my capacity to carry such things will diminish, I asked myself when I would reach the point where I won't be able to carry home from the pharmacy the medicine I need. It's a melancholy - if rather hilarious - thought, and no more silly or sensible than any other which has occurred to me lately. (Another question which troubles me is at what point in my life I am no longer going to be able to open the tops on the large Bundaberg Ginger Beer bottles. My goodness, they're a challenge. But I digress...)
Thanks to the decisions of socialist governments which I affect to despise, this great cache of medicines was FREE, as opposed to the $200+ I would have had to pay for it otherwise.
You, gentle reader, helped to pay for this.
Many thanks. I am more grateful than you can imagine.
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