Reflecting on that cross-fade in "Avalon"

In Barry Levinson's 1990 movie "Avalon," there's a scene where the aging patriarch sits down in his easy chair in front of the TV. 

The camera remains stationary, but there's a slow cross-fade, and at the end of it  we see that several years have passed. The old guy is still in the chair, still watching TV, but he has gotten much, much older.  His golden years have passed without notice into full decrepitude. It's a poignant moment, but also kind of scary. 

Over the last year of Covid isolation, I've felt something like that.  Each day is much like another, lived by rote and routine and the occasional Zoom call. Each day I think we're keeping things together pretty well, but at the end of each day I reflect that I'm in the same place I started -- both literally and figuratively.

My TV is mostly the computer; my easy chair is this same Herman Miller Aeron I splurged on 17 years ago. Since August I've been flying around in the virtual world of Microsoft Flight Simulator. The scenery and flight dynamics are good enough that it partially satisfies some primal urge to get the hell out of Florida. Or so I choose to believe. I've appreciated the diversion, anyway. 

But a computer monitor is still just another glowing screen, isn't it? And glowing screens, like alcoholic beverages, usually take more than they give.  I'm really not ready for my cross-fade, Mr. Levinson.

Not sure where I'm going with this. Someday, I hope, Covid vaccines will be easy to get, and we'll all venture forth with a renewed sense of purpose. Meantime,  I've got another birthday coming up, and the number associated with this birthday has made me acutely aware that I'm running out of days to waste.