Oh, my dear, my dear. You captured what I'm feeling so beautifully that I ache for you. I'll be sixty-nine next month and I can hardly fathom it. Where was I the last six decades? What was I doing and why didn't I attempt what I've been slogging away at the last twenty years, sooner? Everything comes to us so late. And even if we think we're up to a challenge there are legions of others who believe we're just too fucking old.

I feel your pain, my friend. All I can say is, don't give in; don't give up. But still, enjoy Rockford.