I Might Be Old

It may be too early for me to have a midlife crisis. I don't think that's a good term for what I am currently experiencing, however. :) I have just realised I'm not a kid anymore. I was looking in the mirror while putting on makeup (a helpful hint... mirrors help) when I realised I have wrinkles. (Now, okay, I am not thinking that I have huge age lines that make me look 90. But understand from the start that this entry is going to be blatantly superficial, and slightly naive by nature.) Granted, these are not deep crevices in my face just yet. But, they are wrinkles none the less. And they aren't the good kind. "As long as my wrinkles are proof of the laughter I've had, the smiles I've given... blah blah blah." No, no. These are tired wrinkles. Like the bags of my eyes are wrinkled into a permanent tired state. No crow's feet to show how I've smiled. No wrinkles around the corners of my mouth to demonstrate prolonged happiness. Wrinkles because the bags under my eyes are like clothes thrown onto the ground -- they're stuck that way.

Again, I don't think of this as the end of the world or even that noticeable. But it's the first time I've looked in the mirror and thought, "Hm. My skin looks... adult. Or old even?!" Being as obsessed with beauty products, you'd think my skin would be like a baby's butt. I use nice face soap, moisturiser, skin friendly make up -- all with SPF! Must have been all those long hours spent writing papers. I guess I'll have to give that up. "No, sir, I've decided to quit the Master's program... Why? Well, sir, it was giving me wrinkles."

In addition, I am sore. I can't figure out what it must be from aside from my vain pride and old age combo. Yesterday, on my final walk up the hill, I had an encounter with a young thing. Now, let me explain about this hill. It's not so bad, I suppose. But I am usually puffing by the time I get all the way up. The problem isn't the puffing, it's people hearing you puff. A worse problem, sparked by vanity, etc, is if someone else is walking behind you. You don't really want them to pass you as the chubby elderly woman that you now appear to be. Sigh. So after walking up and down that hill four times already that day, some young punk (I'm sure he must have been a punk) came trucking up behind me. So I basically sprinted up the hill, not be beat out by a young uni kid. And now I ache. Awesome.

But I still beat him up the hill. That means I rule.