“People who say you’re just as old as you feel are wrong, fortunately.”

- Russell Baker

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There are days when I wake up and my skin sags, my bones creaky, and I go slow. I feel old; I am old. But then there are days when I wake up, puppy fat everywhere, heart pounding and excited; I feel young, so I am young.

I forget how old I really am sometimes, six, or seventy two? Somewhere in between I’m sure, but where in between? Memory is linked with experience and my experiences are inconsistent. I can’t place when my childhood was really, when I was a child just yesterday and the month before.

When was I young? Honestly young. Am I old? I can’t be sure; can’t remember, not for the life of me. It confuses me, to the point of madness.

Who am I? A child, full of excitement, joy, or am I an octogenarian, wise and tiring? I am inconsistent and I am confused and I’m beginning to think that’s all I am.

Every morning I wake up a new person, but still in a way the same person I was yesterday. It befuddles the mind and oft the senses too; how tall am I today?

Who am I?