Twenty thirty-seven.

Dateline: October 22, 2037.  25 years into the future.

Finally. I’m done worrying about my kids’ college bills.  The younger one is planning a wedding. The older one just told me I’m going to be a grandfather.  The mortgage on my home is nearly paid off. My wife thinks it’s time to re-do the kitchen.

I became a Joslin 50-Year Medalist six years ago.

My skin is starting to show its age.  Wrinkles are beginning to appear where they never did before, and my once-healthy flesh is starting to become dry and pasty.  Although it’s resigned to submitting to the various insertion needles necessary to put the various parts of my “artificial pancreas” in place, it rebels against the adhesives that keep them there, responding with a bright red and intense burn.

In a few short months, I’ll be celebrating my 64th birthday.  Retirement is just around the corner. I’m beginning to think about it, but don’t know if I can afford it.