At the age of forty something I've woken up to a number of pill bottles on my bedside table. They have been there in a purely functional capacity for about 6 months but have somehow managed to go unnoticed in their massing in the same way that grass grows. Huddled together, the pharmaceutical arsenal now lined up under the lamp counts amongst it's own a fist of sleeping tablets, pain relievers and blood thinners, skin cream and an exhaustible supply of anti anxiety weaponry. All lain out for a long drawn out and futile war against the onset of old. Old usually surprises it's subjects, however slow it's approach, but I'm making a surprise attack on old and intend on catching it with it's pants down. A pincer movement, a right flank and a jump to the left. Confuse the enemy. Of course in time I shall have to call in additional troops to join those already on the table, marshaled and got in line by the legion of healthcare professionals at my deployment. Eventually it will be a giant team effort but a mere airbag between me and my demise. Hopefully a gentle deceleration as opposed to a short, sharp stop.