Old Man On The Kitchen Counter

I made an interesting discovery at about the same time as my birthday, which I recounted yesterday. It concerns my microwave, which I guess I never really looked at all that closely. I knew it was old because it had been made by Montgomery Ward. Cursory research indicates that store went out of business some nine years ago and exists today as an online store after being revived by some junk mail company. I certainly knew the microwave was old, but did not realize how old. The information plate on the back educated me. Interesting it was to discover that it was just eleven months younger than I myself.

That hit me like bad news indeed given its condition. It is not in good shape. It takes twice as long to cook anything in it as it is supposed to. The door is very creaking, and makes this horrible sound when I open it all of the way. The unit is very large, heavy and cumbersome. It certainly takes up far too much space on that counter. Those things are inconveniences to be sure, but one can live with them, as one could with what is probably very poor energy efficiency. Probably intolerable is the radiation that I have to imagine it puts out.

It seemed like an obvious thing to take stock of its condition in that way given that its anniversary of manufacture had come and gone so recently. So too is it appropriate to do the same with myself. I am still a young man, and can appreciate the ludicrous nature of worry about my age and health at this early stage, but I can't help how I feel. I may be near my physical peak, but I'm sure it's passed. I could still be in better shape in the future than I ever have been, but never in such good shape as I could have been once had I really worked at it then.

My ailments are probably unworthy of explicit mention, unlike those of the microwave, which could fail dramatically at any time. If and when that happens I can easily replace it, although the damage it might do to the kitchen and surrounding apartment might very well eat up a considerable portion of our security deposit. It might take up all of it and more, but I can survive that. I can't survive my own body failing in similar fashion, the imagined technological innovations imagined by science fiction writers notwithstanding. I have to start taking better care of myself, and soon. The stakes are too high.