Afterlife

At the ripe old age of 50, I work as hard if not harder than I ever have in my life. My gigs are a lot more physically challenging because I need all the air I can get into my lungs to spit out all those lyrics while at the same time playing shit out of the drums. Painting-wise, I haven’t slowed a notch, still climbing tall ladders and crawling on the floors to do grunt work like baseboards and behind toilets. It’s not pretty folks, but I can still do it.
You just do what ya gotta do for as long as you can do it, right? OK, that being said, what’s gonna happen when I CAN”T climb ladders or make a living doing what I know?
These days ya gotta have TWO jobs to make it, so now you’re telling me I need a THIRD for later?
OK. Let’s see, the first thing I can think of that I would be qualified for would be uhhh…Wal-Mart greeter. Yep, I could do that. I’d pull that little smiley face sticker off and stick it on that snot nosed kid’s hand and then pop him in that back of the head while his Mom was rushing over to see what the deal was on the 24 pack of artificially Butter flavored popcorn. Nah, maybe I wouldn’t be so good at that.
OK then, maybe I could fill a societal need like cat euthanizer! I’m sure some vets aren’t too hip on having to put someone’s sweet little kitty night night. Hell, I got NO problem with that! I think I was a dog in a previous life because cats just ain’t my thing. But you’d probably have to have a license to do a job like that and I would be too damn old go to school and do that whole thing, so screw that!
Bartender? Hmmm..I wouldn’t last long at that. I’d prolly pass out before closing time, letting the patrons have the run of the place. Maybe I could start an old-timers cover band that only does the three songs that everyone yells out, “Mustang Sally”, “Brown-eyed Girl” and “Margaritaville” over and over and over again?
Nah, just kill me.