Getting older is a privilege, but it really is tough at times.
Hips and knees groaning, eyes becoming as blind as a bat’s, hair thinning and going grey (except the witchy-poo ones growing out of post-menopausal chins)….the continual downshift of skin, as gravity pulls it to the floor like melting wax. Your nose still growing larger and ears too – while synapses begin to disappear into oblivion.
Ghastly right? Yep, but obvs better than the alternative. I take comfort having company in this ‘maturing’ part of my life – those dear friends who are changing as well, right in front of my very eyes.
Except the ones who still look good. How does that happen? What is it about their gene pool which makes them so damn special and youthful?
Botox.
I know a few people who have succumbed to botulism. I find it rather fascinating. What’s it like? Does it hurt? Does it feel weird afterwards?
And then there are others who go under the knife……So sometimes, I stand in front of the mirror (shoulder height to avoid seeing flab rolls) and I ‘lift’ my face up with my fingers to see what I might look like if I was surgically assisted with a big old yank and hoist. It’s really bizarre seeing my own aging face ironed. Years fall away, and I am fascinated, stunned with the transformation, and ask myself the question….
“Would I do it?”
Dunno.
Part of me pretends I would. The same part of me that thinks I would hang glide or become a nun.
It is bizarre though, this fascination with eternal youth. I truly understand wanting to pull up your jowls so you look less like a bloodhound and more like a greyhound. But I cannot fathom wanting your face to look thirty forever, while the rest of your body sags like a deflating balloon.
Wow, don’t know where all those random thoughts came from. But that’s the joy of a blog. Rambling on incessantly about things people don’t actually want to read, but are loyal enough to do it anyway. I suppose I could post the odd recipe, or tips on how to get ink stains out of clothes. But hey, who really wants to read that drivel? That’s what Pinterest is for right? (no offense Pinterest)
So here in the Midwest, we have gone from summer to winter overnight (shock and horror). The trees are dropping leaves quicker than a strippers g-string and all I can think about is having to rake the bloody things up. I HATE doing that chore……mainly because at our house we have enough trees to start a logging company. It’s hard work, thankless work and every year it is tougher because my body is old.
Speaking of old (again) – I hit the big SIX OH in a couple of weeks. Funny, all the other ‘OH’s’ haven’t bothered me, but this one is ‘uncomfortable’. I can’t quite get my head around being old enough to be classified as ‘retired’ or ‘an old dear’.
It’s so weird shopping for clothes and picking out things I like, only to realize they are too ‘young’ for me……and by that, I don’t mean I have to wear thick stockings and long skirts with crocheted vests. I’m talking about things like not being able to wear short skirts anymore. The legs might still be in good shape, but my skin looks like it needs more stuffing and my knees look like big ugly knuckles. And jeans? It’s elastic waist time in my closet, because at fifty-nine, eleven months, three weeks and nine days, my digestion is so screwed up, I go from being somewhat slender to looking pregnant overnight. And don’t even get me started on butts and bustlines…….
…….What about make-up? Suddenly eye shadow makes me look like I’ve been in a bar fight. Lipstick has to be a light colour or I look like the Joker. And how the hell am I supposed to apply mascara, when I can’t even find my own house without my glasses on…
But there is some upside to this aging.
1. You’re still alive and kicking (even if it is only knee-high)
2. Chocolate
3. No one cares if you are skinny/pretty/have great hair
4. Everyone likes your cooking
5. You can pretend to be wise
6. You can check out good-looking guys and everyone thinks it’s ‘cute’
7. It takes less alcohol to get tipsy
8. You don’t have to lift heavy objects anymore – can play the feeble card
9. You can stay in your pajamas for most of the day and not brush your hair (what’s left of it)
10. You can speak your mind, because you will forget what you said one minute later
I am guilty of all the above. The speaking your mind part is dicey though. I’ve always been a bit gobby, but I am getting worse every year. AND my tolerance for stupidity is at an all-time low. I spend much time (especially when I’m driving) wondering how I hadn’t noticed before that there were so many idiots living/working/breathing in my proximity. And I know I’m not the only one who thinks this way.
It’s very strange how my vision is on the decline, yet I have the ability to ‘see’ everything else so much clearer than I used to?
Gump update………he’s still alive. He too feels old age creeping up on him. Just listening to him walk down the hall, pick up something and then sit down in a chair elicits so many noises he almost has his own beat-box going on. Between us, we can barely make it through an hour-long show at night without both of us nodding off. Therefore, bedtime seems to come earlier every week. We are almost to the point of turning in earlier than we did as little kids. What a reversal!
And let’s not forget the conversation points…absolutely no sign of stimulating topics anymore. Now, all we talk about are which joints hurt and how tired we are. That’s just the precursor to the next subjects, where we shockingly discuss matters which are usually the subject of medical documentaries, the ones you can’t watch while eating.
When were such subjects NOT off limits? Dear god, the filters are quickly disappearing. We are transforming into our parents/grandparents by the nanosecond. Who knew bedroom talk would ultimately be replaced by bathroom talk?
And yet we are lucky. Though we are aging, losing our ‘glow’, and the ability to do physical things we always took for granted, we still wake every morning with another day to live.
Many are not as fortunate. Many wish for clean clothes, a hot meal, and a bed. Some of us are fighting illness, watching others leave this life forever.
That’s really what I think about when I am pissed off at how wrinkled I am. Or that I’m overweight, and hate my ugly couch. I look at the Gumpster, and I don’t always see the grey hair, the older man. Sometimes I can see the buff, thirty-year-old good-looking guy I met all those years ago… (though he still has an awful accent).
So yeah, I’m going to be the BIG six-ohno…….but I made it. I’m still breathing…..and who knows, this could be the year that all my dreams come true!
Never giving up!
Jude the older