Delights of getting old

I'm bored, tired, and not in the mood to work on my book, so that means it's time for a free write. The name of this game is I write until I say something interesting, though that sometimes never happens. Either way, it keeps my brain occupied and keeps me from falling asleep at 7 pm. Must wait until at least 8 so as not to be thought an old woman.

Speaking of old, I'm feeling rather so at the moment. Several times this week I've had conversations with co-workers about how as we hit around 28, women's bodies change so much that we get tired faster, can't stay up and party all night like we used to, gain weight quicker and lose it slower, and a host of other fun, aging-related things.

Well, my birthday is in a week and a half. And yes, I will be 28. It is the beginning of the end, I fear, and I'm not even married yet. How in the world will I have stamina to chase after children in my old age? That's if I get married in time to have them.

Really, though. That's why women have historically had children when they're younger: because they have enough energy to chase naked toddlers around the house and keep babies from painting the walls with their poop. I can't believe that I'll have it in me, especially if I'm still working. How do women do it while retaining their sanity?

It's a rite of passage, being 28. People generally think of 30 in that way, but I really think this year my body will start falling apart even more than it has. Once I hit that day, I'll be needing a wheelchair to get around because my knees will finally give out. I've already had a crown on one tooth, so the rest are surely going to fall out soon. And my back. Oy, my back!

Maybe they had it right, back in the day, when people were having kids in their teens and becoming grandparents in their thirties. By the time you hit forty, well, you're pretty much heading for the grave.

Oh, I'll keep plugging along, but I think this may be the moment when I realize that I let my youth slip away. Late nights. Parties. Traveling the world. Oh, where did the time go? Sigh.

Well, if you don't hear from me in the next few days, check my room because I may have died. It's probably cancer. Or a seizure. That happens a lot when you get old.

You can bury me out back next to my peas that are sprouting in my garden. I figure I'll make good fertilizer. And for the headstone, you can write anything so long as it's not a sappy, boring poem. I don't know if I could stand rotting for eternity under something like that. It would make me more bitter than I already am.

(Most of the above is in jest. Mostly. Oh, how I make myself giggle.)