1. The name game.
You’re standing there with people you have known all your life, talking about other people you have known all your life, and suddenly you can’t remember the name of your COUSIN that you have known all your life. It just won’t come to you. You can picture the face, you can recall everything you’ve ever done together, even the time when the two of you ran naked through the backyard because you were bored and there wasn’t anything on TV, but the damn name just won’t pop into your head. It’s as if your brain is so full that random bits of knowledge have dribbled out your ears.
Twenty minutes later, when everyone has wandered off, the name will finally drift in out of the fog, even though it’s far too late. But you can’t help yelling out “Bobby Joe!” with a mixture of relief and frustration, despite the fact that no one is around you, further convincing the younger relatives that maybe it’s time someone handed you a brochure about Shady Pines.
2. The popcorn thing.
So you’re innocently sitting on the couch in the den, and all you intend to do is zip into the kitchen real quick for a nice snack of something that won’t make you have to pee in 5 minutes. You hoist yourself up, and suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of microwave popcorn just before the ding, with tiny explosions filling the air and echoing off the walls. All of that mess came out of YOU and your apparently no-longer-lubricated joints. To further the shame and degradation, small children will run up to you holding out bowls and a salt shaker…
3. The “adult acne” thing.
What is THIS crap all about? I suffered enough on the first go-around, when some of my teen years were spent walking around like a textbook example of how one SHOULDN’T look if they ever expected to have quickie sex under the bleachers at a football game. Total suckage. This outrage was followed by a few soothing decades where I didn’t have to worry about such things and had sex with complete abandon whenever and wherever I wanted. Good times.
But now it’s back. There’s enough grease on my face lately to fry hush puppies. Really not impressed. Why do we have to go through these midlife hormonal changes? WHY? Haven’t we paid enough taxes to be exempt from this? God.
4. The dripping faucet.
I just WENT to the bathroom. Why do I have to go to the bathroom AGAIN? I didn’t even make it down the hallway.
5. All those pills.
Okay, so we go through our 20’s and 30’s and some of our 40’s never needing a prescription for anything, except an occasional bout of bronchitis or possibly a conjugal visit that should never have happened and probably wouldn’t have if the drinks hadn’t been so cheap that afternoon. Then we hit a point where we need a pill for everything. Cholesterol, blood pressure, anxiety, hoof-and-mouth disease, you name it. I might as well rent a cot in the pharmacy at Walgreens and let trained technicians walk by every hour and cram tablets in my mouth. It would certainly save time and effort.
6. The impatience thing.
I used to be really sweet. All the time, with everybody. Not anymore. People annoy me. I don’t want to deal with them or their inability to function as decent human beings. There have been SO many times when I wanted to leap over the check-out counter and throttle that gum-smacking rude little skank with her hair extensions and lack of worth. But I don’t. I take a pill for that now.
7. The lack of caring about your couture.
There was a time when my daily outfits and personal grooming were of utmost concern. If things were not just right, and didn’t properly accent my dwindling best features, I wouldn’t leave the house. Now? Screw it. As long as I’ve showered and my loins are covered, we’re good to go. There’s nothing wrong with t-shirts that are not particularly flattering, faded jeans that have seen better days, and a hairstyle that can only be described as “well, at least it appears to be clean”. I’ve managed to live long enough that I just want to be comfortable, not win any awards.
8. The fading eyesight thing.
Back in the day, I could spot the school bus three miles away and have plenty of time to slip into my designer jeans, feather my hair just right, and organize my notes from the previous evening’s episode of “Charlie’s Angels”. Today, I have to ask the waiter to take the menu in the other room and hold it just right so I can read it and find an entrée that will cause the least digestive issues.
9. The sleep thing.
If I can make it through three hours of uninterrupted sleep, I’m happy. Five hours and I am truly blessed. But many nights we just take catnaps between gurglings, odd night sweats, unusual pain in body parts that shouldn’t hurt, crazed dreams wherein people are speaking disparagingly of my sexual prowess on “Oprah“, and mind-numbing flatulence. Eventually, I’m just wide awake and lay there, listening to the further decay of my body and waiting for Ingmar Bergman to make a black-and-white movie about my physical and mental decline.
10. The lack of energy thing.
I realize that there are many important things I should be doing to keep my life in order and Code Enforcement off my ass for the appearance of my property. There are many charitable causes that would welcome my volunteerism with open arms and possible discount coupons at a local movie theater. And the whole political thing. I should be out there fighting for decency and some type of legislation that would hold Fred Phelps and Sarah Palin accountable for what they have done.
But usually I just put on my jammie pants, grab the remote, start flipping through channels and suddenly…
It’s the next morning. And time for me to take some more pills.
No comments:
Post a Comment