I've got callouses on the bottom of my feet. I've never had calloused feet. My feet have always been as soft and as supple as a baby's bum.
A year before we had children, I had Lasik surgery on my eyes and my vision was corrected from 20/blind-as-a-bat to 20/20. But within the past few months, I've noticed that when I floss the children's teeth at night, I have to lean way back in order to see them clearly. And if the light isn't turned up brightly enough, it feels like I'm trying to focus on a tiny pine needle in a wavy pool.
My hair is turning gray. Or is it grey? Or is it just white? Whatever it is, the whole crown of my head and temples are turning a color that isn't the blond it was 30 years ago. Or the brown it was 10 years ago.
There are these odd brown and white spots on my hands, arms and face. Whenever I look really closely in a magnified mirror, my skin reminds me of salami and I get an inexplicable craving for an Italian submarine sandwich.
My chest once looked like it was comprised of two firm sandcastles. Now, it looks like a big wave came in and the sand that was once perfectly formed has heaved and is collapsing.
There are clearly visible veins on my legs and on my feet. I've got wrinkles around my eyes and across my forehead. My earlobes are getting flabby (!) and I found a two-inch hair sprouting out of my cheek the other day.
Hello fella! How long have YOU been there?
I'm not even 39 yet, but I can see that this body of mine is cha- cha- cha- changing. Still, I'm trying to embrace the philosophy of "growing old gracefully" not just because I think that plastic surgery comes with considerable risk, but because I'd pick new kitchen cabinets over a $10K boob job any day of the week.
Nah. It's not my aging body that's got me worried. It's my mind. Because for the life of me, I cannot remember the simplest things anymore. It's like my brain has turned in to one giant sieve and various details of things that are truly important have been lost.
Perhaps I'm much too reliant on computers. Because what I'd really like is to back up my memory (the real one) on an external hard drive that I carry around and can access by pushing "Ctrl O" and typing "search" in to some field.
Search: "What are the last four digits of my social security number? Is it possible to recite just those last four digits without rattling the WHOLE thing off?"
Thinking. Thinking. THINKING HARD.
It's embarrassing when people ask me questions about things that I should easily know the answer to. Although I'm not at the point of total panic regarding the onset of dementia, because my memory almost always returns in vivid color. Usually when I'm on the commode for the 10th time in a morning. Funny. I'm not drinking THAT much water.
Or am I?
I totally forget.
(Let me go to the bathroom and think about it.)
Sometimes at night, after working a full day - when I sit down to update my blog - I just stare at the computer and wonder what the heck I'm doing here? Did I have something that I wanted to write, or is it just gibberish? Maybe I should just turn the computer off and go play BINGO?
It's already happening. I'm starting to turn in to one of those characters that tells the same story over and over again. I'll start to tell someone a story and then stop myself. Did I tell them this already? Did I write this story on my blog? Whoa. Wait a second. Who IS this person that I'm talking to? Should I even be telling them this?
Most days at around 10 AM when I'm most apt to be firing on all mental cylinders, I think of something important that I want to write about. Sometimes, I'll even jot myself a note. But when I sit down a few hours later, I cannot recall what I had in mind. The thoughts and feelings that I had surrounding a particular subject have completely vanished. POOF!
My hard drive is full.
One of my consultants told me the other day that Albert Einstein purportedly carried his address around on a small piece of paper in his wallet, because he didn't want to waste precious brain space with something so trivial. I think my consultant was just trying to make me feel better when I couldn't remember his name.
Tonight, I'm uploading some photos I took a few weeks ago and I had a really great story to share about this particular picture:
But now I'm just scratching my head. I think it had something to do with my daughter wanting to be a clothes designer when she grows up. Or maybe I just had an afternoon of rip roaring fun with clothes pins and string?