Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important.

Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.

The whole thing's illusion, [Jacob], and there's nothing wrong with that. It's what people want from us. It's what they expect.

I used to think I preferred getting old to the alternative, but now I'm not sure. Sometimes the momotony of bingo and sing-alongs and ancient dusty people parked in the hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death. Particularly when I rememver that I'm one of the ancient dusty people, filed away like some worthless tchotchke.

Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.

When did I stop being me?

I am ninety. Or ninety-three. One or the other.