So I spent most of July saying how getting old ain't nothing but a number and all that jazz, but let me tell you that I am so full of B.S. Maybe my face doesn't show the 42 years of age, but my body...my body is about 75. Man, I knew getting old was going to suck but I didn't know just how much pain there was going to be involved. Today after sitting a few hours to work on my bed (not the most comfortable of places I know) I slowly walked down the stairs to check on Sam and Adrian and the whole time I was halfway bent over because I just could not straighten my back out. Then when we finally had our late lunch (about 8:00pm) my stomach started making all these LOUD noises as I was eating. It was so loud that Adrian could actually hear it across the room where he was at the desk. Loud stomach noises don't exactly make for romantic evenings...lol. It's a good thing that I have been with this man long enough that all my stomach woes don't scare him off, but how come nobody told me that with age came being on the toilet half the day?
And then there are the gray hairs, and how about those super marked laugh lines (YIKES!) Not the gray hair here and there that I have been sporting for about 5 years now, but the millions of gray hairs that have suddenly sprouted under my bangs. I would be more than happy to rock a platinum head of gray hairs, but these are wiry, ugly gray/yellow hairs that can not be tamed. I will definitely have to start looking into dying my hair again this month, which isn't really something I enjoy doing in my old age. When I was in my teens I dyed my hair enough for 2 lifetimes and I was hoping all that was past me now. Unfortunately, the gray hairs say otherwise. The laugh lines are another story for another day, when we have a million hours to talk about how your entire face starts heading south (along with your boobs) and there is no stopping it.
And then there is the DENIAL. I am in so much denial about that constant pain under my ribs that gets worse when I eat certain foods and that pain in my right boob. I KNOW I should make an appointment, I keep saying that I am going to do it the very next day...but then I don't. Why? Because I seem to enjoy torture and excruciating pain. I just hate dealing with negative crap, even if it's my own crap.
UGH...getting old is for the birds.