Saturday, July 30, 2011

Well, The Alternative is Worse

This aging stuff sucks.  I'm just going to lay it out here at the top, let you know where I'm coming from.  I'd like to roll the clock back about 15 years and take better advantage of the 5,478 days that have passed since I was young.  I'd like to know my womb is a springy, abundant nest ripe for fertilization and that I have many years yet in which to select a worthy fertilizer.  The world would still be my oyster.  Time is the enemy of the aging and everybody knows it.  I wish...  I wish...

I wish our hair stayed whatever color we wanted it to be.  Like, if we wanted it red, we squeezed our eyes closed and envisioned tomatoes, rusted car doors and copper pennies.  I'd wear different colors depending on my mood, but silver or gray would likely not be in my repertoire.  I'd save those colors for Halloween or stage plays when I was playing an older character.  Sadly, no such luck... my hair is a golden brown, save for the dull pieces of gray that have recently started camping out on my crown.  What's left of my crown, that is.  It started thinning out some years ago.  Were I a Franciscan monk I would be excited - keeping my head clear for God would be that much easier.

I wish our joints stayed supple and limber until we were 100.  I'd walk 10 miles a day, in flip flops no less.  My back wouldn't start to compress less than a mile in.  That dull ache that appears until I'm off my feet would never come.  I'd be such an accomplished walker, being on my feet for hours would be no feat at all.

I wish the messed up relationships early in our lives slid out of our memories like the three items on my grocery list invariably do if I don't write them down.  I'd have long ago forgotten how my brother hated me, how his insecurities and God knows what else caused him to be so mean to me, having the hideous effect of making me believe no man could love me.  A lifetime later and hours spent on a couch have convinced me this isn't true, but changing patterns set long ago has continued to challenge me.

And of course I'd keep my womb as springy as it probably was those 5,478 days ago.  I think the reason women start getting antsy about our clock is because we know it's going to stop ticking at some point.  We just aren't aware of it in our 20's.  Why should we be?  But start hanging out in the upper 30's, oh yes.  Oh yes we hear the clock.  We know it's now or never.  We start perspiring at the thought of putting off a family a few more years, even if we're having fun in the now and don't have Pampers burning a hole in our shopping carts.  This fertility stuff stinks, that's for sure.  I wish I could just bottle it to be used at a later date.  Like, a quick trip to Kmart to pick it up.  Blue light special on Fertilized Wombs, aisle 5.  Pick up our blue light special while you can, ladies.

I have no idea what my future holds.  That's half the trouble of aging.  When you're young you may not know what's coming but the possibilities are still infinite, so it's less jarring.  As an old lady [Editor's note: January insisted on including this obviously self-pitying epitet despite its inaccuracy.  The term 'old lady' is generally disallowed from this blog.  The editorial decision to allow it here was made because January has been whining so much it was the only thing to quiet her down.]

Oh God, I really am getting pathetic.

So let's recap:  Aging sucks.  Natural hair dye is good.  Fertility should be available in big box stores.  Any questions?

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