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I’m 36.  Generally speaking that’s not “old”.  My grandmother is 92.  That’s old.  My parents are 60.  That’s old.  Well, it is today.  Wait a few years and I’m sure I won’t think 60 is old.  Anyway, I’m not really old.  I just feel old.  Really old.

I have gray hair.  Not all of my hair is gray, not even most of my hair.  But the gray hair I have is prominently featured.  Every day there are more gray hairs.  Sometimes it bothers me that I have gray hair.  Sometimes I don’t care.  Today, I care.  I know gray hair is easily remedied, but who has three hours to sit in a salon while someone colors their hair?  I can only do that every eight months.  I am so bad at doing it myself that I’m basically not allowed to do it anymore.  I have stained every surface of my bathroom with dye, plus every towel and robe.  Therefore, gray hair is not easily remedied for me.

I have a lot of wrinkles.  My forehead is Wrinkle City.  I have lines around my eyes too.  I put eye cream on every morning and every night.  I use night cream for Pete’s sake!  Night cream!  My everyday moisturizer is “anti-aging”.  Mostly that just means they put in extra sunscreen.  Whatever.  I bought it, didn’t I?

I am forgetful.  I forget appointments, plans I’ve made, errands I have to run, items I have to buy, etc.  I haven’t forgotten anyone’s name yet, but I’m sure it’s a matter of time.  I forget my phone at home when I go out.  Sometimes I remember it before I’ve left or before I get too far, but not always.  I forget my wallet or my purse occasionally.  I am not saying I have dementia or anything.  I just can’t keep stuff in my head anymore.  If I don’t put appointments in my phone, they are just gone.  Of course, I need to remember to do that in the first place and then keep my phone with me.  It’s a whole thing!

I’m tired.  I go to bed before 10 usually.  But then, in true old person fashion, I can’t sleep.  Going to bed and sleeping are two totally different endeavors.  I get restless leg syndrome, RLS to those of us who suffer from this affliction.  I think I might have to get the pills they make for that.  Great, then I’ll be on medication.  Daily leg medicine screams “OLD!” doesn’t it?

I have bad knees and arthritis in my hands.  For real.  My knees crack and make lovely grinding sounds.  Actually, I was diagnosed with arthritis in my knees and hips when I was 25 (because of a poorly healed sports injury from high school), but it’s getting worse in my old age.  They ache.  But, not as much as my hands.  My joints in my hands are sore all the time!  If the medicine for arthritis didn’t cause me to have ulcers, I’d take it.  But it does.

While some people may consider the minivan to be a sign of my age, I have to disagree.  It’s really more a nod to my motherhood and the need to have a large enough vehicle to accommodate my three over-sized car seats.  If I didn’t have kids, I wouldn’t have the minivan.  I’d have a Fiat.  Those are the cutest cars ever!  Is that an old person thing to say about Fiats?

My final old person ailment is that I have spent the last however long telling you about all my ailments!  Who does that?  Old people do.  That makes me an official old person.  Nevermind the wrinkles or the odor of Aspercreme on my hands, it’s my listing of various complaints, health and otherwise, that confirms my agedness.

I still turn my music up loud but not my tv.  I don’t need reading glasses (yet).  I don’t eat dinner at 4:30 (although we do sometimes eat at 5:30 to satisfy James who needs to eat every hour or his body stops functioning).  I am trying to hang on to whatever vestiges of youth I still have.  It’s getting harder with the arthritis though.

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