If they haven't cured cancer by the time I'm forty then my faith in humanity is shot & this was all a waste

I've reached that really stupid point in life where drinking hurts. Maybe it's celiac disease & maybe I can get a government grant for that or something but after just embibing a li'l bit I'm all hells in the morning. & this isn't of the typical hangover, god's punishment for sin variety of hells. No, no this is much more in the style of my muscles feel like they're atrophing off my bones, like it's all rotting away from the inside. Christ, I'd take the rotgut & beer shits of my past over this torture any day.

I've had a couple sessions with my personal advisors (Aaron Queener, Goliath to my inner David, Donna the creepiest cold-caller out there, Paul Akroyd & my roomie Brian) & they all agree that I'm entering that stage of life, that essence of being 'old', that no one ever tells you about. Sure, sure we all hear about how much it sucks to be sixty when the highlight of your day is having a successful bowel movement & we all know the horror stories of hemmorrhoids & high blood pressure, menopause & root canals, but you never hear tale of the early onslaught, the sneak attack of aging that hits you somewhere around 24/25. Certainly this sneak attack is worse for someone like myself who lived their teenage & early twenties years basking in all the glory that is eating little, drinking much, smoking even more & sleeping nearly not at all. It just hit me all at once one morning though, I swear. One tuesday I was fine, only distantly worried about my arthritic joints & my bad back, my under-nourished body & my poor, poor lungs, then wednesday & I'm standing in my kitchen, bottle of Aspirin pills, which I was going to take to alleviate the pain in my legs, lying by my left foot where it landed after slipping out of my shaky, locked-up hands which couldn't negotiate the child-proof cap & my back too swore to bend over & retrieve it.

If this is but a brief prescience of how it'll be when I'm sixty I think I might need to work out a death pact with someone.

or...

Start taking better care of my... who'm I fooling.