Superficial

Sometimes a person needs to take note of what’s going on during their life and sometimes, it’s not always very flattering or something you want others to know. I know I posture a lot more than I’d like to. I do like to think I’m a person who’s very secure and completely embraces the idea that I am who I am and if people don’t like what they see/hear, that doesn’t bother me. They can just look the other way. Other people’s opinion is not that important.

But that’s a lie.

Recently, I’ve been (alternately) unhappy, dissatisfied, appalled, resigned, upset, filled with some level of dread, etc. and all due to the effects of old age.
I’m not liking this transformation at all.

I know, and agree, that a person really does get wisdom, understanding of matters about earth-living, have less stress and better ways of handling the negatives in one’s life. I do like that part a lot.

I also consciously know that the 3 weeks in Intensive Care at the hospital a year ago took its toll, although those affects have definitely improved….not even sure anymore what is directly related to that experience and what is just plain old age. And how much improvement can be expected when repairs take much longer, if ever, to take affect?

I don’t like those large sunken lines on either side of my mouth. I know they are smile lines and that’s a very good reason to have them. Better to laugh and smile thru life. But now, little other parentheses are starting to surround those so-called smile lines. How many parentheses will come?

I intensely dislike those brown spots forming all over my arms/legs, and yes, I had a lovely time at the beach, at the many pools, but why is this the payoff?…and they didn’t have sunscreen back in my day either. Although, I suspect even with sunscreen, religiously applied, those little buggers would still appear.

I hate my neck.

I hate my upper arms.
I miss wearing sleeveless tops, or even very short sleeves.

I hate that thin, baggy, saggy skin on my arms/hands that has all those criss-cross lines.

I hate just barely bumping into something or scratching my arm too hard and am left with all those broken blood vessels under my skin that causes others to exclaim over my serious injury and I don’t feel a thing. Just left with another reminder of my old body. And silently, I’m thinking “yes, your day will come also” to the younger person who doesn’t understand why my arm looks that way. I know they meant no harm but the devil in me takes delight that they’ll get it too. Usually now, I’ll just put on a band-aid so I don’t have to explain to the young ‘uns.

I hate no longer being the “pretty girl.”

I hate not being the attractive woman.

I have now become the “attractive woman for her age” and don’t like it and I know I should be feeling lucky and grateful that I was at one time. I should, but I don’t always feel that way.

I should, instead, feel lucky to have had firm skin and no brown spots, etc etc etc. (I also hate being so old and knowing that any young person reading this, will not get the reference to The King and I and Yul Brynner) and should concentrate on how healthy I am, as opposed to some other unfortunate people, who’s last thought on their mind is how their body looks and more about how it doesn’t work as well.

I hate that I watch old classic movies and like most old people, think things were so much better in “the old days” ….manners, values, morals, love of country.
I also think in terms of “kids nowadays” and soon that may just become “those young whippersnappers.”

I could go on and on but even though these things are not what I think all the time, I do think them.

And I think about them a lot.

Probably more than I should.

I still wear my costume, complete with mask, that proclaims to the world that I’m a secure, self-assured person who is transitioning gracefully into an elegant older woman.

Ha!

If only that were the truth.