In the mirror

brass framed wall mirror

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Every stand in front of the mirror and wonder, “What happened?”

I mean, this is starting to become a regular occurrence for me. So, I wonder if others have a similar experience any time they are in front of a mirror.

I am not a good judge of myself, at least when it comes to appearance. I’ll say that right off the top. I am hard on myself. But, to be honest, I haven’t ever though that I fall in the “attractive” category. “OK” at best, but probably mostly “Fair” would be safe.

Anyway, the bathroom is becoming my enemy. Well, any place that has a mirror, but mostly the bathroom. Or, you could probably include any picture of me. Those suck too, but that’s a whole other story.

So, morning and night starts and ends in the bathroom for me. I have to “put in my eyes,” as I like to say it, in the morning and “take out my eyes” at night. Blind as a bat…but that too is a post for another day.

I watch my body change. I watch my face change. I watch what “used to be” become my “new normal” and I just wonder, “What the hell happened?” My face could scare small children (and likely does…though it doesn’t crack the mirror so maybe it isn’t that bad…) and my body could be used as a boat anchor, only I probably would still float too well. Aches appear from nowhere. Creaks and pops from the joints that used to be flexible and nimble. Bumps, lines, and spots appear on my face as though I am trying to win a topographical map contest. I stare at it and it stares back. Only the gaze that comes back is different than the one previously.

Age. Is. Unkind. It can’t be denied and it can’t be avoided. I guess there is some control over how it happens and how gracefully you can handle it, but in the end the end still comes.

Some days though, I can’t help but dislike what I see.

 

Stiff and sore

grayscale photo of man

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All that work on the house and in the yard yesterday has me moving much slower today. Age isn’t just a number, so don’t listen.

I suppose if I did this stuff on a regular basis, I would be less sore. But, climbing up and down a ladder repeatedly to put up gutter guards and using the shears to cut down bushes aren’t something that happens regularly, so that little piece of advice goes in one ear and out the other.

OK, OK, being more physically active would be better, I know.

But today, just let me wallow in my tired, stiff and sore irritation. It’s just best for everyone.

 

Choices vs. Choices

There are days were choices are just hard. It’s always this versus that. Me versus them. Us versus them. Me versus that.

So today, the choices seemed harder than most days:

Get up, work out, have a fabulous body (some day, because it isn’t right now).

OR

Stay in the warm, comfy bed and sleep more.

Effort and exertion versus rest, comfort, and warmth.

Dang it.

Fine.

I got up.

But I hated it.

Stupid choices.

Why can’t we just have both?

Choices suck.

 

Temperature control

amber blaze blur bonfire

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Too hot. Too cold. Too hot. Too cold. Too hot. Too cold. Too hot. Too cold. Too hot.

The battle has begun.

It’s the “I’m too hot” and “I’m too cold” season. The season where your body can’t decide what it’s going to do so you spend lots of time trying to find the perfect temperature.

It’s cold outside, turn up the heat or build a fire. Now it’s too hot inside but too cold outside.

It’s cold outside, so bundle up to keep warm. Now you have too many layers on but you’re afraid if you take them off you’ll get cold so you don’t remove them only to stay too hot.

It’s cold in the house, so you add more blankets to the bed. Now you wake up in the middle of the night sweating. You throw them off, only to wake up shortly thereafter to pull them back up because you’re cold.

The office is cold but you don’t want to wear your coat while you work. You wear your coat while you work and then you’re too hot.

See? Constant battle. Push-pull. Hot-cold. Happy-miserable.