There's a celebration in progress but it seems to be coming from a long way off. Is this what it means to grow older? More and more I feel as if I'm watching things from outer space. Today I'm notified by certified mail that I've won a sweepstakes I don't remember entering from a supermarket chain where I don't even shop. As the first-prize winner I'm entitled to run up and down the aisles of the local store like a lunatic pushing an empty shopping cart. For twenty minutes I can throw in anything that I like. Soda, snack cakes, small cellophane wrapped—carcasses. Anything. I imagine running up and down the aisles for twenty minutes in a cold panic and ending up with the cart just as empty as when I started. I can think of nothing more horrible. To the audience, I must seem terribly ungrateful, gasping for breath, dripping sweat, empty-handed. It's like one of those awful dreams when you suddenly realize you're naked in public—a total humiliation. But, unexpectedly, instead of humiliation or public derision, it appears that I am now entitled to an even higher-tier prize. "Congratulations," the mailman says and presents me with a second certified letter, which, without even opening, I politely decline. "Thank you but no thanks," I say. From now on, I'll be entitled to no more prizes. The mailman nods and says, "Self is a visitor that does not stay."
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