Grups.

Lately... lately I've been thinking about getting old. Not "older." Not "more mature." I am seriously pondering the very real chance that I am, in fact, getting OLD. I understand it happens. I read somewhere ("Prognosis Monthly?") that it happens fairly often. I've seen "Same Time Next Year" and "Cocoon." I get it: people age.

But when did I get OLD?

Testify, Chuck:

“I’ve been having this weird dream lately. Even before I went out to tape the show. I’m in the hospital. I’m lying there, wondering if I’ve died… and no one’s told me…. It’s so vivid, this dream… I wake up in a cold sweat every time….”
“I see. And how often do you have these dreams?”
“Something like twice a week now.”
“That’s very odd, Charles… and you don’t equate it with the show at all?"
“I don’t see how… there’s no connection that I can see. I don’t know what’s better, though. Having these dreams or having insomnia…. I’ve had both….”
The doctor leaned forward in her chair, and toyed idly with the pencil cup that rested on the table that separated them. “Are you even going to tell me how the show went?”
“Why? It’s pretty predictable. I lost. The pattern continues.”
“We’re not kids anymore. You had what it takes to get on the show. That’s something, I think.”
“Well, I wrote them a letter. I took the test. I went in for the interview. They didn’t know to come looking for me. You know how these things work… you’re never invited.”
He stopped… looked sadly out the window. The sun was setting; the glass walls of the building across the river were glowing a dull, pulsating red; the river itself was ablaze. He didn’t notice, but he did manage to smooth his hair over his bald spot in the reflection that faced him.
“Y’know,” he said, turning back, “I have to admit I still feel funny about coming in here and talking like this… to you, I mean. After all, we’re related--“
“Only by marriage,” she interrupted hotly. “And our time is up.”
He shrugged, and rose creakily. “By the way, we’re going out to Daisy Hill tomorrow. Wanna come? Say hello?”
She didn’t look up from her planner. “Well… I don’t think I can, Charles. I’ve got a few… things I need to take care of. But say hello to Sara for me….”
“Right,” he replied, pulling the door open.
“But hey, I’ll see you at the party next week, right? He’s only in town for the night….”
“Sure,” he sighed. “Whatever.”