where ARE my glasses, anyway?

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Sure, there are better athletes than me. Much better. And there are certainly more likable guys. Better looking guys. Better singers. Better cooks. My whole life, I could count on someone being better than me at pretty much everything. But I had one important refuge: I could count on being among the smarter people in the room.

And much like the beautiful, I've flaunted what I have. My brains have always been how I differentiated myself. I would look at folks older than me, their onetime beauty diminished by the ravages of aging. I would look at how bitter it made them to have lost their beauty. They could scarcely function now. And I would feel superior. What made me special, after all, would never be diminished by age.

And then I aged, and I became a moron. The neurons are flaking off like an arctic storm, now. I can neither remember what I did yesterday nor perform work tasks that I could do in my sleep just five years ago. It's horrifying. It's humbling.

All in all, I would rather have been hot.