It creeps up on me. When I climb the ladder to store my booze above the corner cupboard. When I bend down to accomplish certain tasks and find my elbow pushed to my thigh, guarding my back. When I stumble just a little on the stairs. When I ascend and descend a staircase (generally not nude), so many times a day, I hear it whisper: not forever.
I don’t heal as quickly as I used to. I’m not really gaining weight, but everything is shifting—I am thicker in the middle. One of these days I will not be able to turn that birthday cartwheel. (Of course, it would be good if I turned cartwheels between birthdays.)
Old age. The end of days. Not forever. I must be brave.
Yes, daily creeping fear here.ReplyDelete
I am unhealthily fixated on the "generally not nude" parenthetical statement.ReplyDelete
Yes, it is coming.ReplyDelete