Aging is the worst. Plain and simple. Aging is an evil unrelenting bitch on wheels that shows no mercy. Power walking 3 miles results in 3 days of shin splints. Walking along the beach for a couple hours leaves me with charlie horse cramps in my calves later that night. Perky jubblies begin to migrate north and start to resemble panty hose with a tennis ball stuffed in the toes. Your once juicy booty goes soft like an overly ripe dimpled peach that’s flat on one side from sitting in the fruit bowl untouched or moved for too long. And your arms? At some point you go from waving with your hand to waving with your tricep or at least the sagging loose skin in the general area of your tricep.
Speaking of skin, let’s talk about the changes going on with the skin on your face. If you’re lucky, you had a parent that occasionally rubbed you down with zinc oxide in the summer. Or you’re like every other human born before 1985 and you have dark spots also lovingly called age spots by the beauty industry. Oh, and that crinkly skin at the corners of your eyes that your friends call “smile lines”… yeah, crows feet. That’s what those are. Named after the annoying cawing bird’s dirty feet. Fitting. Moving north to the forehead. Bet you never thought all that much about it in your teens and 20’s. It was just a part of you that you debated occasionally covering with bangs. Then suddenly it becomes rumble strips slowing you down before you crash into your hairline which is changing too by the way. Thinning or getting coarse maybe even frizzy. Regardless, it will eventually turn into something weird that you have no idea how to even handle. Speaking of hair, you have a witch hair now growing out of your chin. If you don’t, you’re under the age of 32 and it’s only a matter of time. You’re welcome for the warning.
And so it goes. Shit get’s loose, saggy, achey and dark. You can try and take preventive measures but just know, you are fighting a loosing battle. To quote Steel Magnolias, “Honey, time marches on and eventually you realize it is marchin’ across your face” and in my case, my ass as well.
Tomorrow is just another day like every other one that has come before. I will wake up a few too many minutes late and have to rush a bit. I will remember to breath in and out. I will go to work at a job that while not terrible, it’s not exactly fulfilling either. It’s not like I am saving lives and making the world a safer better place. I manage commercial furniture installations. Meh. But, I am good at it and it pays the bills. I will put in my 8+ hours then come back home like any other Tuesday. I will cook dinner that has a 50/50 chance of being delightful or gag-inducing. I will make a weak attempt at cleaning something or other around the house while dinner cooks. I will eat the dinner all the while pondering how there could be so many dirty dishes in the sink already after just one simple meal. I will watch some mundane TV show or overrated movie on one of the hundreds of channels to be found on the idiot box. I will multitask and pin pointless items on Pinterest that look great in writing but, when executed, turn out to be joke worthy big ol’ messes, read a style magazine and curse my lackluster wardrobe or knit a gift that was meant to be for last Christmas in the hopes of actually having the fortitude to finish by this Christmas. Then I will go to bed to start the process all over again and will continue to do so until Friday evening breaks from that monotony.
I need to remind myself this: Tomorrow is just another day. A day just like all the rest of the 12,418 days I have lived up to this day. It just happens to be the day that I took my first gasp of air that started the broken path of a crazy life. It is not a day to contemplate my mortality, reminisce on failures, shortcomings, expiration dates and disappointments. This date on the calendar is not a trigger to ruminate on what I don’t have, where I wanted to be and how life was supposed to be by now in general. There are 365 days in the year and I can spread these feelings of regret and longing out over the other 364 days to soften the proverbial blow. I don’t need to pack all these unsavory thoughts and memories into one depression filled day that was really meant for celebrating life.
So, it’s just another day. It will come and go. I will not feel any different, I refuse. I haven’t felt any different on tomorrow for the last 12 “tomorrows” and this year will be no exception. I hold no expectations of grandeur and pomp, I never have. Doing so would only lead to added disappointment and ruin any surprise, no matter how small, that could possibly peek through the typical daily grind. Tomorrow is just another day, 1 of 365 and I will survive it even if today feels like there is no way that I could possibly.
Happy fucking Birthday to me. Let the wine floweth over whilst I celebrate my survival of another year in the face of so many benign 1st world problems, for without which I would have nothing to complain about. Keepin’ it real since 1980.
They say that once you hit 30, shit changes with your body. Your metabolism slows, gravity starts to march across your softer parts stamping them looser and dimpled like a piece of fatty meat, beat with a tenderizing mallet and suddenly opening the pickle jar takes a bit more effort. Who ever the proverbial “they” are, they’re right dammit.
It couldn’t have been a sudden decline. It’s not like I went to bed a a hard body and woke up with grandma arms. But it did sneak up on me. First, my favorite jeans kept getting shrunk more and more in the wash. Just the waist band and thighs though. The length stayed true. Go figure. Then it was the arm openings on my short sleeved shirts. That obviously was the laundry too. And then it happened. I moved to a sunny beach and had to put a bathing suit on. Where the hell did that doughy white body come from? And how did my bathing suit shrink…. Oohhhh. Dirty fucking 30’s have struck.
So it’s time to wage war on this bodily decline. I refuse to feel bad about myself now that I have seen what can never be unseen. So for the last few weeks, I have been finding ways to get a little extra movement in my day. Taking the stairs, offering to mow the yard with the antiquated manual push mower and parking as far away from the store when I run errands. And I have added actual weight work outs to the mix. I have been picking up my small weights and occasionally one of the heavier ones of the sailors to work on my arms, doing the “Brazilian Butt Lift” moves that I pilfered off the internet, and various series of crunches and planks. But these are just little things. The bigger deal is, I have cut out most terrible but delicious items I normally consume. Instead I have traded them for vegetarian dishes made with fresh veggies and little to no carbs and a few fats as possible. If you know me, you know my soul is weeping for cheese. Preferably melted over a perfectly prepared medium burger. But I digress and frankly typing that made me hungry for no reason. The bottom line is, I have been feeling better. I don’t see much change yet but, I feel better and that’s something.
So that gets us to tonight. Tonight, the sailor has duty. This means I have the house to myself. So, while my vegan cruciferous and carrot casserole was cooking, I planned to sweat it out until the kitchen timer dinged time for din-din. As I gathered the few items I needed for the planned activities, I noticed the sailor’s doorway pull up bar. I had flashbacks to high school PE tests and only needing to accomplish one chin up from a dead hang. It wasn’t so hard. Could I do one now? Probably not, but I MIGHT just get half way. So I slapped that thing up and took grip. The moment I started to strain to budge my gelatenous self up I knew it was a mistake. But, it was the pop in the side of my neck though, that drove this fact home. Needless to say, at the moment I can not look left with anything other than my eyes nor can I tilt my chin down to my chest.
Aging sucks. I want a re-do on my 20’s so I can prepare for this downward spiral better.