I wrote a column this morning about the awkwardness of making jokes about older people now that statistically I’m not bringing the average down a whole lot. I’ve been in a bunch of hospital waiting rooms in the past six weeks, so I’ve observed all sorts of human behaviors. And most of the humans have some wear on the tires.

I’ve become the joke, then. If you’re in a place with a lot of old people, check your driver’s license. There’s probably a reason.

But I’m a baby oldster, right? I’ve still got to learn how to speak in an inappropriately loud voice and get real interested in The Weather Channel. I have homework.

On the other hand, one of the benefits of aging is that we’ve been through this before. Whatever it is, we’ve had some experience, and experience is an excellent teacher.

So I understand that everything has a price, and at a certain point most of that expense is paid by biology. Our bodies are our banks, to beat that metaphor into a pulp. There’s a cost.

I knew the bill was coming, then. This has been a pretty crazy six weeks, with a lot of worry and stress. It’s gonna cost something.

Today my stomach is rebelling against weeks of mostly sugar and caffeine, and it’s a busy day. I’m going to be in the car a lot, sitting on the freeway, sitting in hospital waiting rooms, sitting and traveling and suffering, I guess. Bound to happen.

Other things are going to come due, I know. Nothing too serious, I hope, but I get it. You can only live on credit for so long. Time to suck it up and pay.